


Ties That Bind

by tuppenny



Series: Growing Together [5]
Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: F/M, I dunno what else to warn you ab but if you were ok w/ my other stuff you'll be ok w/ this, Jack & Kath get physical occasionally hence the rating but there's no sex, also Katherine's family makes appearances, as do other newsies, including baby newsies that I invented bc kids are adorable and I love them, some anti-semitism (which is soundly refuted!) in Chapter 3! so heads up on that, some curse words but nothing worse than what's in the musical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2018-12-31 11:03:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12131067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuppenny/pseuds/tuppenny
Summary: The Jack and Kath get married fic.





	1. October 1903: Nine Months to the Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter in this fic starts the night that my previous story in this series (Undercover) ends. It's October 1903.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack gives his gang the news.

Jack recognized the dreamy look in Katherine’s eyes.

“Off to bed with you, macushla,” he said, picking her up off the couch and carrying her the few steps across the hallway to her bedroom.

“Mmm,” she murmured in protest, wrapping her arms around his neck and nuzzling her head to his chest. “Not tired.”

“For someone who’s just outwitted a pack of gangsters, you’re a terrible liar,” Jack said fondly. Katherine was far too sleepy to think of a clever response, so instead she responded by shaking her head against him and making squeaks of disagreement. Jack laughed and eased her bedroom door open with his bare foot. The floor was dusty after having spent so many weeks away from the apartment, but there would be time for cleaning later. In Jack’s world, sleep always took precedence over cleanliness, and although Katherine was generally of the opposite opinion, he was sure that right now she’d agree with him.

He dipped down to pull back the covers before lowering her gently onto the bed. “There you are, that’s it,” he said, easing his arms out from under her. She put up a bit of a fight at first, refusing to let go of his neck, but he soon kissed her into submission.

Katherine giggled and sank back into her pillows, trying desperately to stay awake. “Not tired,” she mumbled again, reaching up to stroke Jack’s stubbled cheek but not quite making it. Her arms felt heavy, and she was having trouble keeping her eyes open long enough to tell exactly where Jack was.

“Sure you aren’t,” Jack said, pulling up the white top sheet and tucking her in.

“Stay with me?” She asked, reaching up to him again even as her eyes fluttered closed.

His heart leapt. Even after five weeks of sharing an apartment with him, she still wanted him with her. Five weeks of falling asleep with him in the room, five weeks of being woken up by his searing nightmares, five weeks of knowing that at any minute the other shoe could drop and Paul Kelly’s men could come in to drag both of them away, and now—now she had a chance to sleep in her own bed in a safe apartment, to spend a quiet night all by herself, and she wanted him to stay?

Jack was used to sharing a bedroom; now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure he’d ever had his own. Heck, after he’d transitioned from sleeping in the lodging house bunks to sleeping on the rooftop, he’d spent the first two weeks waking up in cold sweats, subconsciously spooked by the fact that he was no longer sharing a _bed_ with someone else, let alone a bedroom. As he’d gotten older he’d slept alone outside sometimes, sure, especially in the winter, but even then the whistles and snores and sneezes of thirty boys were just a set of stairs away.

It was different for Katherine. She was used to her own space, used to privacy, used to her bedroom being her sanctuary. And that was a boundary she’d been careful to preserve in their relationship, too, at least until the two of them had gone undercover and had to share a one-room apartment. But even then, they’d slept on separate mattresses. Which isn’t to say that he hadn’t yearned for more—he’d wanted to hold her close every single night of those difficult weeks, to fall asleep with her scent on his skin, to burn alive as the heat of her body mingled with his in the summer haze, to have Katherine anchor him to the knowledge that he was who he thought he was and he could be who he wanted to be. He’d wanted that so much that at times he’d ached with the pain of it, but he knew that physical distance was important to her, and he wouldn’t put his comfort before hers. So he’d wrapped his arms around himself and hung on to the knowledge that even though they weren’t touching, she was right there. Katherine was with him. He wasn’t alone.

Put short, he could count on one hand the number of times they’d actually fallen asleep in the same bed together.

But tonight she had asked him to stay.

He almost didn’t believe it.

But he knew Katherine, and he knew she meant what she said. So he smiled at the almost-sleeping girl and said, “Of course, love.” She stirred and cooed in response, causing his smile to widen until his cheeks dimpled. He watched her for a few moments, seeing the rise and fall of her chest become slow and even. Then he rolled up his pants and stripped to his undershirt so as not to sweat too much in heat of the Indian summer. Still smiling, he padded over to the window to push up the sash and let in a breeze that ruffled his hair. Ah yes, that was better.

Jack leaned on the sill and shook his head in amazement. He was wanted. He was loved. He was _engaged_. Engaged to Katherine Pulitzer, no less. He huffed a short laugh and then went back to the bed, nestling himself behind Katherine and curling his arm around her waist. “You’s an angel, Kath’rine Plumber,” he said softly, knowing she couldn’t hear him. “An’ soon you’s gonna be _my_ angel.” He shifted slightly on top of the sheets, settling his head just behind hers so that he could breathe in the scent of her freshly washed hair, her long braid still dark and damp from the shower. “I can’t wait ta marry ya, Ace,” he said, and gave himself over to a blissfully dreamless night.

 

***

 

Jack woke up all alone the next morning and bolted upright, his heart doing a quick stutter-stop until his brain had time to register where he was. Katherine’s apartment. Right. He fell back onto the pillows in relief and threw an arm over his eyes. “ ‘S okay, Jack, you’s okay,” he murmured, and as he spoke he realized his throat wasn’t raw. And he couldn’t remember having woken up during the middle of the night, either; his last memory was of lying next to Katherine, feeling safe and dreamy as he held her tight and closed his eyes. Had he… had he slept through the night? Without any nightmares at all? He’d forgotten that was even a possibility…

Jack stripped off his undershirt as he shuffled to the bathroom, blinking back drowsiness and disbelief. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but he didn’t really care. He wasn’t about to rush himself into the office, not after the hellish month he’d had. He’d show up to work when he showed up, and his editor could just deal with it.

Jack brought his clothes with him into the shower to wash them and hung them on the fire escape to dry while he got breakfast. Katherine’s landlord pitched hissy fits whenever anyone used the fire escapes to dry laundry—said it made the building look low-class—, but Jack figured he could get away with it this once. He’d pull everything back in and deny it heartily if the man knocked on the door to complain. But first, breakfast. Or at least coffee. Katherine rarely had much food in the apartment, and after so long away, he didn’t expect to find anything edible at all, but there was always coffee in the cupboard.

And so it was with great surprise that he entered the kitchen to find the table heaped with fruit, a paper bag full of cinnamon raisin bagels, one jar of strawberry jam and another jar of peanut butter, a whole pound of butter, six white eggs, and a gleaming glass bottle full of fresh milk. Pinned to the paper bag was a little note in Katherine’s familiar, looping handwriting:

_Good morning, love! You were sleeping so soundly that I couldn’t bear to wake you. I’m off to work and planning to stay late, so I’ll see you tomorrow. (Or tonight, if you decide to come back to mine instead. You know you’re always welcome.) Enjoy your breakfast, fiancé dearest._

_Your Wife-to-Be, Katherine_

He traced her words with his finger, not even conscious of how broadly he was smiling. _Your Wife-to-Be, Katherine_. The only reason he knew he wasn’t dreaming is that he’d never had a dream this nice before. He reached for a perfectly yellow banana and peeled it slowly, singing to himself as he heated up water for coffee. “Jack and Katherine, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the ba—” Realizing too late where the song went next, he spluttered and choked on a piece of banana. _Oops_.

The rest of the day was less eventful. His editor congratulated him on getting over the pneumonia that had sidelined him for so long, commenting that the illness sure had done a number on him, had he forgotten what food was? He checked in on Bug, the little newsie who had helped keep him from getting soaked by Monk Eastman’s gang and who was now working as a messenger boy in the building. He sifted through a stack of illustration assignments, picked out a couple that caught his eye, and chewed through the end of a pencil while trying to find a witty way to link the inaugural World Series of Baseball to the escalating tensions between Russia and Japan (he failed). And all the while, his heart was flipping and fluttering away inside him. _Engaged to Katherine. You’re engaged to Katherine. She’s going to be your wife. You’re getting_ married _._

These thoughts propelled him homewards that night, causing him to practically float through the door of the boarding house room he shared with Crutchie.

“Jack!” Crutchie yelled, springing off his bed and launching himself into Jack’s arms. “You’s here!”

“Sure am, kiddo,” said Jack, pounding Crutchie’s back with one hand and mussing his hair with the other. “I missed ya like the dickens, how _are_ ya?”

“Better’n ever now that you’re back,” Crutchie said with a grin, pushing Jack backwards to get a good look at his friend. “Geez, Jackie, you look like hell.”

“Been hearin’ that a lot recently,” Jack grumped. “How’s about a ‘Hi, Jack, you look as handsome as ever, let’s eat?’”

“I could eat,” said Crutchie.

“Good,” said Jack, “ ‘Cause my stomach’s ‘bout ta eat its way through my spine. Jacobi’s?”

“Sure.” Crutchie hopped back to the bed to grab his crutch, Jack reached over to his bed to pick up his newsboy’s cap, and the two boys headed out.

Jacobi’s was still the place to be for newsies who’d had a successful selling day, and so Jack and Crutchie spotted Race and Albert at a table in the back and made a beeline for them.

“Jack!” Albert sprang from his seat and pulled Jack in close, slapping him on the back and rocking him side to side. “Ya did it!”

Jack laughed and squeezed Albert right back. When they pulled apart he said, “I didn't do a whole lot, ya know. Ya really oughta be thankin’ Kath. An’ Crutchie an’ Davey an’ Sniper an’ Finch an’…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Albert interrupted. “Always with the modesty.” He punched Jack in the shoulder and the boys settled down for dinner.

“Hey Jack, ya know some of the littler newsies don’t think you’s real?” Race said. “They thinks you’s some sorta Paul Bunyan Johnny Appleseed King Arthur Santa Claus mash-up what flies in on a dragon ta save the newsies every now an’ again.”

“But I was just at the Lodging House yesterday!” Jack protested.

Albert shrugged. “Yeah, well, you know how little kids is. They thinks maybe Davey dressed up ta play you or somethin.’”

Crutchie snorted. “Davey ain’t never been as short as Jack is,” he said, taking a swig of his seltzer.

Jack elbowed Crutchie, causing the boy to slosh seltzer all down his shirt. “I know you’s happy ta see me, but ya don’t gotta be so obvious about it.”

Crutchie rolled his eyes and grabbed a napkin to sop up the worst of the mess. “Ya don’t got a dragon, neither.”

Albert smirked. “How ‘bout Kath?”

“She don’t belong ta nobody, ya peabrain,” said Race, shoveling a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

“That’s for sure,” Jack said. “But say, fellas, I got some news for ya.”

“What, news aside from how ya saved the newsies, ya look as handsome as ever, let’s eat?” Crutchie said with a wicked grin.

“As it happens, yeah, I do,” said Jack, aiming for sarcasm but ending up in giggles. Once he'd caught his breath, he continued. “So, ya wanna guess or ya want me ta tell ya?”

“You’s takin’ control of the art department at _The World_ ,” said Race.

“You’s retirin’ from the paper an’ workin’ full-time fer Medda,” said Crutchie.

“You’s got a secret lair under Manhattan where you’s built a doomsday machine you’s about to unleash on the city,” said Albert.

“Albert wins,” said Jack, taking his friend’s arm and lifting it into the air like a prizefighter. The other boys groaned in disappointment and leaned back in their chairs. “So, Albert, whatcha want as your prize?”

“A milkshake,” the redhead answered seriously. “An’ ta not be killed by your doomsday machine.”

“You’s still gonna die,” Jack said, motioning Mr. Jacobi over to the table, “But ya gets ta decide if ya wants chocolate or vanilla before ya go.”

“Chocolate,” said Albert, shimmying a little in his chair in anticipation.

“Chocolate it is, then,” said Jack, placing the order.

Once Albert had gotten his milkshake, Crutchie got the conversation back on track. “So, Jack, what’s the news?”

“Kath an’ I—we’s—” His heart was so full he could barely speak, and his smile was so big he wasn’t sure he’d be able to form words. After a few moments of the boys leaning forward in silence, he managed to say, “We’s engaged.”

Race shot up out of his chair with a whoop, Albert’s eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped, and Crutchie flung himself sideways to hug Jack around the shoulders.

“Engaged!” Race yelled. “Hey, Mr. Jacobi, Jack ‘n Kath is gettin’ _hitched_!”

“That calls fer milkshakes all ‘round,” said Crutchie, his nose scrunched up in glee. “Congratulations, Jackie!”

Albert was still staring at Jack in shock, unable to form words, but eventually he shook off his surprise and began drumming on the table in excitement. “A weddin’!” He said. “You’s gonna be Kath’s husband! She’s gonna be your _wife_!”

“That _is_ how weddin’s work, Albert,” Crutchie said, watching Albert with amusement.

“Yeah but… it’s Jack an’ Kath, Crutchie!” Albert said with faint reverence.

“So where’s ya gettin’ hitched, then, Jackie?” Race stood behind Jack, bouncing slightly in place and shaking his friend’s shoulders with each question. “When’s the ceremony? Is ya gonna have a reception? Whatcha gonna wear? What kinda rings is ya gettin’? Will there be food? Gonna get hitched Catholic-style? Who all is invited? Can I come?”

“Whoa, Race, slow down,” Jack said. “I only knows the answer ta that last one, an’ the answer is only gonna be yes if you stops shakin’ me like an apple tree in the fall, yeah?”

Race chuckled and socked Jack in the arm before sitting back down. “You’s gettin’ _married,_ Jack,” he said wonderingly.

“Yeah,” Jack said, adjusting his cap and shaking his head slowly. “I can’t hardly believe it myself. She’s the most wonderful woman on God’s green earth, an’ she’s gonna marry _me_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still couldn't find a date for the K-I-S-S-I-N-G song, but it's probably not far off being period-appropriate.
> 
> The First World Series was played from October 1 to October 13, 1903. The Boston Pilgrims (which would eventually become the Red Sox) beat the Pittsburgh Pirates, 5 games to 3. 
> 
> The Russo-Japanese War broke out in February 1904, after months of talks that Russia was using as a stalling tactic in order to have time to build up its military.
> 
> ***
> 
> Hi again! I anticipate this one going slower than my other fics just bc life is super crazy right now. 10 job applications in, about 30 more to go over the course of the next 3-4 months. Whee. Plus other normal semester things and a dissertation and moving and goodness even knows what else will pop up. So bear with me. To soften any disappointment at my potentially slow updating, each chapter is going to be fairly self-contained, because my plan is to check in with the characters for each month that leads up to the wedding (with the final chapter being the actual wedding). This means no really suspenseful cliffhangers! Woo. 
> 
> Also, hiiiiii Freddy, I hope you like this, since you're the one who asked for it like two whole months ago! :)


	2. November 1903: Eight Months to the Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone prepares for Thanksgiving and a date is set.

“Froggy, stop throwing marshmallows out the window—you can’t eat them if they’re outside in the dirt,” said Davey, crossing over to the window to grab a small, grubby newsie by the hand.

“Yah I can,” Froggy said, standing on his tiptoes to toss another handful down into the alleyway. “An’ if I tosses ‘em out the window then I don’t hafta share with Muffin, ‘cause he don’t know they’s down there.”

“Ah,” said Davey. “Well, I bet you can’t throw them on top of this casserole,” he said, guiding Froggy back to the long trestle table in the Lodging House kitchen. “It’s much smaller than the window, see? There’s no way you can toss them on here without spilling any.”

“Pssh, I bet I can, too!” Froggy said, clambering up onto the bench to drop clumps of marshmallows, made sticky by his sweaty little hands, on top of the sweet potato casserole. “Look, Davey! See? I done it!”

“Goodness, so you did! Think you can do it on this one, too?” 

“You betcha!” Froggy hopped in excitement as Davey set another casserole dish in front of him.

“You’re a good cook, Froggy, nice work,” said Katherine, coming over to see how things were progressing. “You, too, Davey,” she said, winking at her friend.

“Davey ain’t done nothin’!” Froggy protested. “I’s doin’ all the work here, Miss Kath’rine.” 

“Davey’s what’s called a supervisor,” Jack said, coming over to ruffle the child’s hair. “His job is ta watch ya like a hawk an’ make sure ya don’t eat all the food ‘fore it’s cooked.”

Froggy pouted. “Muffin ate a whole bag of marshmallows, though! It’s not fair. Why ain’t Davey supervisorin’ him, too?”

“Because Davey doesn’t have eyes in the back of his head,” Davey grumbled. “I sure wish I did, though.”

“So do I,” said Finch, swinging off the doorframe and into the room. “ ‘Cause Muffin’s throwin’ up in the hallway an’ it’s real gross.”

Kath, Jack, and Davey all winced. Froggy cackled. 

Finch strolled over to join the passel of newsies chopping fruit, kneading dough, rolling out pie crust, decorating cookies, peeling potatoes, and otherwise occupied in a wide array of Thanksgiving preparation activities. He swiped a couple of shelled pecans from the pile in front of Elmer, who yelled and smacked Finch in the arm. Finch retaliated by whipping out his slingshot, grabbing a marshmallow off the nearest casserole, and shooting Elmer smack between the eyes. Katherine sighed. “You were right, Jack, this would’ve been much easier if we’d done it at my place.” 

“Yeah, but this is way more fun,” he said, cozying up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, and bending to kiss the side of her neck.

“So, Davey, ya gonna clean up after Muffin or what?” Finch said, tossing an unshelled pecan up and down in his hand.

“Me? Why me?” Davey protested. “Someone wanna tell me why _I’m_ suddenly in charge of all the kids?” 

“Hey Davey, ‘s okay, I got this,” Buttons said, standing up from twisting lengths of dough into intricate shapes. “I’s about done with these rolls anyway. Mind finishin’ ‘em up for me?” 

“Uh, no, sure thing, Buttons, thanks,” Davey stammered. Buttons waved him off and left the room, as unhurried and unruffled as always. 

“I swear, Buttons is a saint,” Romeo said with a shake of his head. “If I ever has kids what vomits indoors, we’s just gonna have ta find somewhere else ta live, ‘cause I ain’t cleanin’ it up.” 

“You’s gotta get an apartment an' get married first,” said Albert, shoving Romeo sideways into Elmer, who dropped a handful of pecans and had to crawl under the table to retrieve them. 

“Speakin’ o’ which,” said Race, turning to Jack and Katherine, “When’s you two getting’ married? I’s a busy man, ya needs ta set a date if ya wants me ta be there.” 

“Who said they wanted you there, huh?” Albert said. 

“Who _wouldn’t_ want me there?” Race asked, clapping his hand to his heart. “I’s a capital dancer an’ a profesh’nal raconteur, ya know. If I don’t show up, why even go?” 

“Maybe they’s havin’ a Baptist weddin’, Racer,” Albert said archly. “They ain’t no dancin’ at Baptist weddin’s. You’d just be a big nuisance, same ’s always.” 

Race glared at Albert, grabbed a fistful of marshmallows off of the casserole Froggy was sprinkling, and threw them at the redhead. Albert was more than ready for this, though, and so he ducked in plenty of time, leaving poor Specs to take the sugary bullets for him. 

“Well, now I know where Froggy gets it,” Davey sighed. Froggy giggled and handed Race another handful of marshmallows, which Davey lunged to stop Race from throwing. “Geez, Race, could you at least _try_ to set a good example?” 

“I dunno what ya mean, Dave,” Race said with an air of total innocence. “Didn’t ya hear me just now, advisin’ our two pals what’s livin’ in sin ta get married? I’s promotin’ morality an’ holy matrimony, advocatin’ fer proper behavior in front o’ the little ones. Ain’t no better example’n that.” 

Davey rolled his eyes and then, after a short internal struggle, he grabbed a handful of mashed potatoes, rubbed them all over Race’s face, and sprinted out of the kitchen. 

“Daaaaaveeeey!” Race roared, spluttering and blinking potatoes out of his eyes. “I’s gonna get you back for that, you schlub, just you wait!” He hightailed it out of the kitchen after Davey, hurling a steady stream of insults and threats after the oldest Jacobs boy.

“And we’re not living in sin, Race!” Katherine yelled after him. 

Jack laughed. “ _That_ was what you took away from all that?” 

Katherine pushed out her lower lip and gave him her best puppy eyes. “Think of the children, Jack. We can’t have their imaginations running wild.”

He nudged her with his shoulder. “What with the marshmallow fight they got goin’ on, I doubt they’s thinkin’ much ‘bout you an’ me.”

Katherine turned to see the kitchen white like snow with flying marshmallows and sighed. “Next year we are definitely doing this at my—at _our_ place.”

“Agreed,” said Jack, pulling her into a side hug and resting his head on her auburn hair. “So I guess that means we’s gotta get married ‘fore Thanksgiving, then?” 

“Mmm,” she said, distracted by the marshmallows. “I sort of always wanted a summer wedding, Jack.” She rubbed his arm. “How about July 21st?” 

“Fifth anniversary of the strike,” he said, starting to smile. “It’s perfect, darlin’.” 

“Just like you,” she said, twisting to kiss him. “Five years since I met the bravest, most beautiful boy in the world. And I can’t think of a better way to celebrate that than by marrying him.” 

Jack hummed into their kiss, making Katherine shiver. The kiss deepened, threatening to turn into a display that would give the small newsies’ imaginations more than enough material to work with the next time they were in a gossipy mood. Suddenly, the two lovebirds were hit with a flurry of marshmallows and a splattering of potatoes. 

“Break it up, you two!” Specs said. “Think of the children!”

“Ooooh, Specs, you asked for it!” Katherine yelped, reaching for the nearest bowl of food, which happened to be full of shelled peas, and slinging a volley of green missiles back at Specs. Jack grabbed a baking tray to defend himself against gobbets of pumpkin and started giving as good as he got, hollering good-natured insults all the while. They could pick up pre-made food at the store later; this was far too much fun to stop.

 

***

 

Later that evening, Jack and Katherine were leaving the Lodging House after having dropped off piles of pies, side dishes, and a thirty-pound turkey to replace everything that had been sacrificed earlier that day to the Great Newsie Food Fight of 1903.

Katherine reached the bottom of the stairs first, and she was about to continue down the sidewalk when Jack grabbed her wrist. “Ace, wait, would you-- would you hold up a second?”

She turned and looked up at him, a question in her eyes, and as she looked, she found herself blinking back tears. He was silhouetted in the moonlight, strong and sure, and, for the first time in a long time, she looked at him. _Really_ looked at him. And there he was. The man she loved.

She’d gotten used to seeing him sallow and tight, always scanning the room, always ready to bolt, his normally easy smile stretched so thin that it threatened to snap and draw blood. But now, seeing him there on the Lodging House steps, he looked so much like himself, so much like her Jack, that her breath caught. His terrible undercover haircut had finally started to grow out, his hair was back to its normal chestnut brown, and his newsie cap was perched exactly where it ought to be. He’d filled back out over the last month, too; she’d found herself buying twice the normal amount of food since they’d returned, although she hadn’t mentioned this to him.

And as she stood there waiting, she realized that, at some point in the last few weeks, he’d returned to her. Or maybe he’d returned so slowly that she hadn’t even noticed the pieces fitting together, the spread of his shoulders and the warmth in his voice. But she was noticing now, and her heart thrilled at the sight. His smiles had become bright and clear again, his movements had almost regained their normal smoothness and surety, and everything about him sang of hope and promise. He was back. He was here. And he was hers.

“Ace,” he said softly, letting his hand slide from her wrist to her fingertips. “I got—I have somethin’ for you.” With his free hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, hinged box, which he flipped open with his thumb. Then he turned it around and offered it to her. 

Katherine drew her brows together; she couldn’t quite tell what it was in the gathering dusk. She took it in her right hand and pulled it close to see and— _oh. Oh, my._ She jerked her head up to stare at him, to say something, to cry or protest or cheer, but the words in her head were running far too fast for her to catch. 

“Ace?” He asked, his hazel eyes glittering with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. “Did I get it wrong?”

Katherine snapped the box shut and launched herself into his arms. “You got it completely and utterly right, love.” She gave a laugh that nearly turned into a sob. “Perfectly right,” she said, her voice low. “It’s beautiful, dear heart. I love it. Thank you.” She felt him relax against her, and she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the forehead. 

“Can I put it on you?” He asked tentatively. “I mean, if you don’t mind.”

“There’s nothing I’d like more,” she said, her face aglow. She released him so that he could gently, oh so gently, take her left hand and slip on the engagement ring he’d spent nearly a year saving for. And as the two of them stood there in the moonlight, admiring the ring on Katherine’s hand and the future it promised, they knew she was right. This was right. Completely, utterly, perfectly right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgiving was on November 26th in 1903. It was a public holiday.
> 
> The Newsboys' Strike of 1899 started on July 21st.
> 
> ***
> 
> I know I said I'd take longer to update this one, but you guys left me so many kudos and comments that I had to get right back to it. So give yourselves a pat on the back, darlings.


	3. December 1903: Seven Months to the Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which fears and families prove divisive.

“Kelly! Where’s the cartoon for tomorrow’s paper? You were supposed to have it in an hour ago!”

 Jack looked up from his desk, his face dark and sullen. “Ain’t my fault there’s nothin’ worth drawin’ about today.”

 “What on earth are you talking about, man? There’s plenty to draw if you’d stop sulking long enough to read a headline—why, just last week we had a woman win a Nobel Prize—a _woman_! For _physics_! And now this week The Majestic is employing female ushers… you’d better watch your back, Kelly, or I’ll find a woman who can do your job and do it on time, too.”

“Be my guest,” snapped Jack, shoving his chair back from his desk. “I need a smoke, Nolan, I’ll have your cartoon to ya in thirty.”

Jack’s editor frowned and dithered; he needed the comic _now_ , not in half an hour, but he wasn’t brave enough to tell Jack so. Jack had mostly shed the aura of feral unpredictability that had surrounded him in his first year as an illustrator, but Nolan had never quite shaken his conviction that Jack had ties to the criminal underworld, and so he generally left Jack to his own devices. 

Normally Jack didn’t take advantage of his editor’s unfounded fears, but today he couldn’t help it. He grabbed his double-breasted coat, pattered down the stairs, and fought his way through the lobby out into City Hall Park. He didn’t smoke—what with Crutchie’s weak lungs, he’d never even considered it. But ‘smoke break’ was an escape excuse that the office accepted, whereas ‘if I don’t get out of this office right now then I am going to scream’ was not.

He loped to an unoccupied bench in the park, sank onto the cold wooden slats, and covered his face in his hands. _Breathe, Jackie. It’s okay. You’ve been to things like this before, it’ll be fine_. But he knew that was a lie—he hadn’t. The Pulitzer family’s annual Christmas party belonged to a social tier far beyond anything he’d even sniffed at, and, despite weeks of Katherine’s careful coaching, he still didn’t feel prepared. He balled his fists into his eyes, took a few deep breaths, and headed back into the office.

 

***

 

Although he managed to finish his work, he wasn’t feeling any better by the time Katherine knocked on the door of his boarding house room to pick him up for the party. He dragged his feet as he went to the door, and he barely managed a grunt in response to her bright, “Hello, Jack!” 

She frowned at his tepid greeting, and she frowned even more when he turned back into the room without so much as a compliment for her outfit. She’d thought long and hard about it, too, and she wanted at least a word of acknowledgement for her efforts. Aiming for something grown-up but demure, she’d chosen a low-necked, forest green evening dress with a wide, cream sash. The green would set off her hair and Jack’s eyes, and the embroidery on the neckline and skirt would draw the eye without being risqué. Her hair was carefully arranged into a sophisticated updo, braided and pinned and tucked just so, and she’d rummaged through her room to find the pearl drop earrings her mother had given her for her sixteenth birthday. She’d even dared a little makeup, including a deliberately bright lip color that she’d selected to keep her from kissing Jack during the party, but that would mark him as hers as soon as they started home.

“Jack, you’re—you’re not even dressed,” she said. “I’ve got a cabbie waiting for us outside; we agreed you’d be ready at eight.”

Jack grunted again, his back to Katherine. He reached for the black waistcoat Katherine had bought him for his birthday that year and shrugged it on over his white dress shirt without buttoning it. He moved in front of the mirror above the washstand in order to tie his cravat, but instead of putting the tie on, he crumpled the delicate silk in his hand and braced his hands on the edge of the washstand. 

“Jack, what’s wrong? We have to go,” Katherine said, the door still half open behind her. 

Jack slumped further, bracing most of his weight on the flimsy wooden washstand, and hung his head. 

“Look, Jack, whatever is wrong with you right now, can you please just get dressed and tell me in the cab on the way over? My parents are sticklers for punctuality, and if we show up late then you know how they’ll react.” 

Jack slammed his hands on the edge of the washstand, making Katherine jump, and whirled around. “That’s the problem, Ace—I _don’t_ know how they’ll react. I don’t know ‘em hardly at all, least not outside o’ your old man tryin’ ta starve me an’ my buddies a few summers back—remember that? Real friendly move. An’ the little I know of ‘em beyond that has been the two of ‘em tryin’ ta break us up. They don’t want me at their hoity toity shindig, an’ ‘s real hard ta get excited about goin’ somewheres you knows you ain’t wanted.” 

Katherine’s brow darkened. “You’ll never know how they react if you don’t ever agree to go somewhere that they are going to be! They’ve invited us for Sunday dinners more than once, and you’ve always said no—” 

“I had _work_!” 

“You have flexible hours!” She took a step closer to him, her eyes blazing. “You don’t want to get to know them because you’re afraid they might reject you, but if you don’t even try, then they definitely will!” 

Jack scoffed. “Listen, Ace. I knows a lot about people, an’ I knows that people like your parents don’t want people like me at their fancy Christmas parties, okay? It don’t matter how long you an’ me’ve been together or how hard I try ta make friends, they ain’t never gonna want me around.” 

Katherine threw up her hands. “And what if _I_ want you around, Jack? Did you ever think of that, huh? That maybe I love you and want you by my side?” The two of them glared at each other. Jack’s eyes were narrowed, Katherine’s jaw was clenched, and neither of them was going to give an inch. “We are getting _married_ , Jack. We are going to be a _family_. This is a _family_ Christmas party. So let me ask you this: do you want to be a part of this family or not?” 

Katherine’s question dangled in the air, its weight threatening to crush them both. Finally, Jack gave a strangled cry of frustration and yanked off his waistcoat, hurling it at the wall above his bed. It hit with a satisfying smack, and he sent the silk tie fluttering after it. 

“ _Fine_ ,” Katherine said, her dark brown eyes glittering. “Fine. _I_ am going to my family’s Christmas party now. Good night, Jack.”

 

***

 

“Katherine, dearest, it’s lovely to see you!” Kate Pulitzer drew her daughter into a tight hug. “Let me look at you. It’s been so long—one month? Two?” 

“Three,” said Katherine. “I’m sorry, Mama, you know how work gets.” 

“I do. And between your work hours and the time I’ve spent in France, well—time slips away, I suppose.” Kate tucked one of Katherine’s stray curls behind her daughter’s ear. “But the news is your calling, Kitty, so don’t you ever let anyone make you feel guilty about pursuing it. Not even me when I’m feeling petulant.” 

Katherine laughed. “You, petulant?” 

“Oh, it happens,” Kate said. “It’s just that mothers, unlike small children, are usually given the benefit of the doubt and called ‘concerned parents.’” She winked.

“I’ve missed you, Mama,” Katherine said, leaning into her mother for another embrace. 

“And I you,” said Kate, her voice tender. Then she let Katherine go and gave her a brilliant smile. “But this is a party, Kitty! No glum faces tonight.” She motioned one of the staff over to hang up Katherine’s scarlet coat and gave an approving nod at the evening dress. “That color suits you perfectly, dearest. You look wonderful.” Katherine gave a twirl to show off every angle, and Kate smiled. “My sweet baby, all grown up. The pearl droplets are a nice touch, a little fancier than your usual studs—” she paused, having caught sight of Katherine’s engagement ring, and pulled her daughter’s hand up for a closer look. “This is beautiful, too—is it new? I don’t think I’ve seen it before.” 

Katherine flushed scarlet, trying to decide how to explain that yes, it was new, and it meant that she was engaged, but her fiancé hadn’t wanted to come tonight even though he wasn’t sick or working or out of town and they’d just had a fight but she would be marrying him in seven months and… but Kate didn’t give her the time. 

“A claddagh ring! I haven’t seen one of these in a while. Just look at how delicate the gold of the band is; the jeweler who made this must have been very talented to get the Celtic knotwork right on such a small scale. The artist who designed this gave him quite a task. Or perhaps the jeweler designed it?” She gave Katherine a questioning look and then twisted the ring back around so that the small hands and crowned heart were facing upright again, the tip of the heart pointing towards Katherine’s fingertips. “And is that… tanzanite? It is, isn’t it, in the heart there? Such a brilliant blue, I don’t know why I didn’t spot it as soon as you walked in the door.” Kate smiled and released Katherine’s hand. “You have excellent taste, dearest. It’s a beautiful piece. But you really should move it to your right hand; if you keep it on your left, people might think you’re engaged!” Kate laughed merrily, amused at the idea of her oldest surviving daughter being engaged without her knowledge. 

Katherine’s brain shifted up a gear, churning out possible responses at twice her usual thinking speed and with less than half the coherency. “Mama, I—” But again, Katherine was too late. 

“Ah, Mr. Worthington, thank you so much for coming,” Kate said, switching back into hostess mode. “Have you met my eldest daughter, Katherine? Katherine, this is Mr. Philip Worthington, a New York financier whose acquaintance we were delighted to make in France this summer. Mr. Worthington, Katherine is a reporter at _The Sun_. She’s written at least one piece on banking, so I’m sure you two can find lots to talk about.” Kate smiled brilliantly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to greet the other guests,” she said, sweeping away towards the entry hall. “Don’t forget to switch the ring, Kitty, dearest,” she called as she left. 

Philip Worthington quirked his lip. “Kitty, eh?” 

“Mothers and their pet names,” Katherine said with a shrug, moving to cover her left hand from view. 

“And you wrote a report on banking?” Worthington said, his eyes crinkling. “I suppose a piece covering the fashions in high finance would provide an excellent instructional guide for men in other professions who wish to learn how to dress properly.” 

“A—what?” Said Katherine, blinking. “No, I wrote about the banking industry and its ills. I’m sure that, as a financier, you know all about the egregious and rampant—” 

Worthington continued over Katherine. “Ah yes, the ills of the banking industry.” He leaned in close and gave her a stage whisper. “It’s the Jews, you know. They don’t want you to think that they’re running the show, but they’ve got their fingers in more pies than a pretty little thing like you would even know existed.” 

Katherine’s jaw dropped. Had he _really_ just said that? There were so many things about that statement that she wanted to dismantle and beat him over the head with, and he didn’t even seem to realize that he’d gone horribly wrong. Just as she opened her mouth to set him straight (and then some), her oldest sister, Edith, now eighteen, stepped in and grabbed her by the elbow. 

Fixing the financial bigwig with a disdainful stare, Edith said loftily, “You do realize that our paternal grandparents were Jewish, don’t you? And even though our father does not actively practice his parents’ religion, it is still extremely inappropriate for you to be spreading such baseless rumors about the character traits and professions of his family _in his own home_.” Edith gave him a falsely sweet smile and took a deep breath. “Also, since you have clearly failed to take the time to acquire a decent education, I feel that it is incumbent upon me to tell you that most Jewish people are not involved in the banking industry in any way—luckily for them, because if they were, they’d have to interact with cretins such as yourself—and those that are were originally driven into the profession by, again, European Christians like, oh, if I may hazard a guess, exactly like  _your_ paternal great-great-grandparents, who considered it beneath their dignity to provide financial services and then restricted membership in the ostensibly more ‘reputable’ professions so that Jewish citizens were unable to find work elsewhere.” 

Worthington blinked. “I, uh…” He stammered, trailing off with a shocked look on his face. 

Edith scoffed and turned to Katherine. “I don’t believe that any response he could invent would be worth our time to listen to,” she said. “Let’s go.” She pulled Katherine away with her to the parlor, whose walls were lined with tables boasting elaborate Christmas delicacies of the sort that Katherine knew she’d never be able to learn how to make herself. Jack, though… Jack might be able to figure it out… As the sisters departed, Edith called back to Mr. Worthington, “Oh, and because I don’t believe you’re bright enough to have realized this yourself, that is your cue to leave this party, Mr. Worthington. You aren’t welcome here anymore. I hope never to see you in this residence again.” 

Katherine grinned and reached to give her sister’s hand a squeeze. “You’re as brilliant as ever, Edith.” 

Edith let out a breath Katherine hadn’t even realized she’d been holding and gave Katherine a hug. “Oh, Kitty, I was so nervous! Do you mind that I stepped in? I know you could’ve handled it yourself, but I’m officially co-hosting with Mama this evening, so I wanted to get some hostess practice in and save you the effort.” She scanned Katherine’s eyes with a worried look. “Was I okay? Are you mad?” 

Katherine’s eyes widened. “Mad? No, of course not!” She laid a hand on Edith’s shoulder. “Edie, you were wonderful back there.” 

Edith seemed unconvinced. “But you’ve got that set to your shoulders that you only ever get when you’re mad.” 

“Oh,” said Katherine, deflating. “Right. I was hoping no one would notice… I’m not mad at you, Edie. It’s just been a long day.” 

Edie perked up. “That’s easily fixed! Here,” she said, towing Katherine over to a table with a large copper kettle. “The mulled wine is magnificent this year. Cook tried a new recipe, and it's a marvel. It’ll lift your spirits, I guarantee.” She ladled out a mug for Katherine and handed it to her. “Careful,” she warned. “It’s hot and I think I’ve overfilled it, but you do look as if you need every last drop. Enjoy!” 

Katherine took a sip and felt the spices and alcohol radiate through her. 

“Good, right?” Edith smiled, pleased at the bliss spreading over Katherine’s face. “Look, there’s Father! Have you said hello yet?” 

“No,” said Katherine. “Oh, he looks splendid tonight, doesn’t he?” Edith nodded. “Thanks for the wine, Edie, it’s helping already.” She gave her sister a kiss on the cheek and gestured with her shoulder towards Joseph Pulitzer. “I’m going to go greet Father, but I’ll see you later, I’m sure.” 

“Of course,” Edith said. “Go. I’ve got my eye on another guest who I think might need rescuing from an awkward conversation, and I want to make sure that Mr. Worthington has truly gone. Have fun tonight, Kitty, and keep that mug full!” 

Katherine laughed and crossed the room to see her father. “Father, it’s me,” she said, placing a hand on his back so he’d know she was there. 

“Ah, Katherine, I’m glad you came,” he said. “I’m sure you’re looking as lovely as ever, although I can’t see you very well… these new glasses aren’t working the way I’d hoped. My optometrist is a cad, I tell you, I don't know why I pay the man, seeing as it’s still getting harder and harder to read my papers every morning…” Joseph Pulitzer trailed off as he felt someone else place a hand on his back. 

“Joseph, how are you?” Asked a tall man in immaculately pressed clothing. “Thank you so much for the invitation; it’s wonderful to see you.” 

“Ah, Christopher! Allow me to introduce my eldest daughter, Katherine. I don’t believe you two have crossed paths before, have you? Katherine, Christopher Warren is in the railroad industry. Christopher, Katherine is a reporter at _The Sun_.” 

“Why, Joseph, do you mean to tell me you weren’t able to sign your own daughter?” 

Pulitzer chuckled. “It was a sore spot for a while, I’ll admit, but _The Sun_ has been an excellent training ground for Katherine. And I hope that someday I’ll succeed in luring her over to _The World_.” 

Katherine smiled. “We’ll see, Father.” 

“You’ll drive a hard bargain, I’m sure,” Pulitzer said. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t. But top talent is worth top dollar.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for your byline in the society pages, then,” said Christopher, nodding pleasantly to Katherine.

“Oh, no,” Pulitzer said. “Katherine is an investigative reporter, Chris. One of the best in the city. And I’m not saying that because she’s my daughter-- her work stands on its own merits. She broke the story on the newsboys’ strike a few years back, and do you remember the scandal over the predatory employers exploiting newly arrived immigrants? That was her work, too. I have that piece framed in my office, actually; it was excellent reporting. Which reminds me, I believe Wilson has finally gotten around to hanging up her latest article—what was that one on, Katherine? The conditions in tenement housing?” 

“Yes,” Katherine said, startled by her father’s unexpected praise.

“Have you read that one, Chris?”

“I can’t say that I have,” he responded, his eyebrows raised so high that they’d nearly disappeared under his hair. 

“It’s very good work. Very good work indeed. Here, I’ll show you, right this way…” Pulitzer motioned for Christopher to follow him and left Katherine standing alone in the parlor, slightly dazed. Her father was _proud_ of her? When had that happened? She went to take another sip of her mulled wine and, finding it empty, moved to refill it to the brim. Her other sister, Constance, was nearby, refilling her plate with delicate lemon sugar cookies cut into Christmasy shapes. 

“Kitty!” Constance said, dropping her plate on a side table and rushing to hug Katherine. “How _are_ you? Oh, I’ve missed you, why haven’t you come round recently? Are you enjoying the party? How is the wine? Edith said it was excellent, but Mama won’t let me try any. Can I have a sip of yours? I promise I won’t tell…” 

“Slow down, Connie!” Katherine said with a fond smile. “One thing at a time, alright?”

“Sorry, Kitty. I’m just so excited to see you! It’s not the same without you here, you know. Tony doesn’t listen to any of us as well as he does you, and the older that boy gets, the more like Father he becomes. Honestly, you’d think _he_ was the newspaper magnate in the house, the way he tries to order us around! And he’s only seven! Can you imagine what he’ll be like when he’s grown? It’s very sweet, though, once he’s had his tantrum he comes to apologize. He gives the best kisses, too, he just comes up and sits in your lap and kisses your cheek and…” 

Katherine tried her best to listen, she really did, but she was sick to her stomach over the fight with Jack, overwhelmed by the emotional highs and lows of the party, and, as much as she loved her little sister, she was simply unable to focus on everything Constance had to say. So she smiled and nodded and made sympathetic noises and sipped at her wine until the mug was empty. 

“Hold on a minute, Connie, let me fill this back up,” she interrupted, steeling herself for another Constance monologue. By the time Katherine was on her fifth mug of mulled wine, Constance seemed to have petered out, and Katherine was feeling floaty and sensitive, ready to laugh or cry or scream at the slightest provocation. The wine had pulled her emotions up to the surface, leaving her on the verge of tumbling from one to the next without so much as a by your leave. 

“So, Kitty, how are you? How’s Jack?” 

And that was all it took to send Katherine over the edge. She threw her arms around Constance, buried her head in Constance’s shoulder and sobbed, although she had enough presence of mind to keep it quiet so as not to attract the attention of her parents’ guests.

“Kitty? Kitty! Kitty, what happened?” 

Constance stroked Katherine’s hair and made shushing noises until Katherine had recovered enough to choke out, “We… we had a fight… he was supposed to be here, and, and…” A fresh wave of sobs sent her head back onto Constance’s shoulder. 

This time, though, Constance refused to play human handkerchief, pushing Katherine away and giving her a stern look. “Then what are you doing _here_? Go fix things with him, Kitty. Right now. You’re so smitten that you can’t be happy when Jack’s not happy—no, don’t say anything, you know it’s true—so you need to get out of here and take care of that. Honestly, Kitty, I don’t know how you’ve managed to stand here and smile at these awful bores when you’ve got that gnawing away at you. And for heavens’ sakes, have you even eaten anything tonight? People go all funny when they drink wine on an empty stomach—you need to get some food in you and vamoose.” She handed her hiccupping sister a linen napkin hastily stuffed with spiced pecans and ushered her to the door. “Wilson, fetch Katherine’s coat and winter wear, please,” she said, and helped Katherine bundle up as soon as the butler returned with Katherine’s clothes. Katherine’s fingers were shaking too hard to do up the buttons, so Constance patiently fastened them closed, pulled Katherine’s gloves on, and gave her sister a kiss on the cheek. “Now scoot, Kitty,” she said. Katherine was about to protest, but Constance cut her off again. “No. Not a word from you, missy. You go home; I’ll say your goodbyes for you.”

Katherine sniffled, hugged Constance, and went to hail a cab.

 

***

 

Crutchie came back in shortly after ten, a little tipsy from the wine he’d shared with his girlfriend, Rosie, at dinner. He startled to see Jack lying in bed, still only half-dressed and eyes flat. “Geez, Jack, ya scared me just then. I thought you was goin’ ta Katherine’s folks' place tonight?” 

“Mmm,” Jack said, not even bothering to make eye contact with Crutchie.

“Okaaaaay,” Crutchie said, raising one eyebrow. “So why’re you here, then? Did the party end early?”

Jack snorted. “You could say that,” he said bitterly. “I’ve gone an’ screwed things up again, way I always do. I dunno why you keeps me around, Crutchie, I ain’t no good ta nobody.” His arm dangled limply off the side of the bed, completely numb from having been in the same position for hours. 

Crutchie sobered up fast. “That ain’t true, and you knows it.” He sat down on the floor in front of Jack, forcing Jack to either look him in the eye or shift positions. “Tell me what happened.” 

Jack closed his eyes. “I didn’t go.” 

“Okay. Why not?” 

“Couldn’t,” Jack said, his voice clipped. 

“Did Katherine not come get you?”

“Oh, she came, all right,” Jack said. “She came an’ she was more beautiful than Sarah Bernhardt ever were, an’ I just… Crutchie, I _can’t_. What am I doin’ with a gal like that? There weren’t no way I could go to her parents’ fancy party an’ hobnob with all them rich folks an’ not feel them starin’ at me an’ judgin’ her for it every single second. I can’t do that to her, I just can’t.” 

Crutchie sighed. “This ain’t really about Kath, Jack. This is about you.”

“That’s what I’m sayin’! I ain’t good enough for her!” 

“That’s not what I mean. You’re actin’ like all this mopin’ an’ worry is outta concern for Kath, for wantin’ her to have what she deserves, but it ain’t. It’s about you bein’ scared.” 

“I ain’t scared!” Jack bolted upright. “That ain’t what this is, Crutchie!” 

“Yeah? If you weren’t scared, ya wouldn’t be so fierce about sayin’ so, now wouldja?” 

Jack flopped back down onto the bed, pulling his arm to his chest to try and stem the sensation of pins and needles that had started as soon as he’d moved. He scrunched his eyes closed again and flipped so that his head was buried in his pillow. 

Crutchie laid a hand on the bed. “Look, Jack. ‘S normal to be scared. Gettin’ married is a big step for anyone, an’ marryin’ a Pulitzer adds a whole nother layer of difficulty. But ya can’t go the rest o’ your life tryin’ ta avoid things you’re scared of.”

Jack groaned into the pillow and clapped his hands to the back of his neck.

“I know, I know. You’s spent most of your life doin’ things you’s scared of. Ain’t nobody thinks Jack Kelly’s a coward.” Crutchie moved to rub Jack’s back, and although Jack flinched at first, he soon relaxed into the soft, repetitive motion. “You’s real brave, Jackie boy, an’ we all knows it. You just gotta know it, too. Ain’t no Pulitzer party can beat Jack Kelly, right?” 

“This year it did,” Jack mumbled, his voice half swallowed by the pillow. 

Crutchie laughed. “Okay, sure, so this year it did. But it ain’t gonna happen again.” 

“No,” Jack said, turning his head to finally meet his friend’s eyes, his face set with determination. “No, it ain’t. An’ I gotta tell Kath’rine so.” 

 

***

 

Safe inside the warm cab, Katherine replayed the fight over and over, wondering where she’d gone wrong. But she wasn’t able to hang onto that train of thought for very long, because the mulled wine was sitting uneasily in her empty stomach. She tried to reason with her body, but it wouldn’t listen, and she found herself wrenching the cab door open to vomit into the street. 

“Oy! I don’t drive drunks. You needs ta get out.” The cabbie flapped his arms at her, and Katherine, too embarrassed to object, fumbled in her purse for coins to pay for the ride and quickly exited onto the sidewalk. Maybe a walk in the cold December air would do her good? She could hope, anyway. 

She’d mostly sobered up by the time she finally reached home, and her nerves had settled some, too. The walk had given her space to breathe, to banish every last thought from her head, and then to welcome her thoughts back in again. But she welcomed them back slowly, one at a time, so that she could examine and process and weigh each one with cool rationality. As she climbed up the stairs to her apartment, she’d decided the following: It was far too late to go see Jack now; as much as they needed to make up, she knew that if she showed up in his neighborhood at midnight he’d only get even angrier at her for going into the slums by herself at this hour. Constance had been right, though; like it or not, her happiness was tied to Jack’s, so she had to be alright with not being alright until they’d sorted this out. And sorting this out might take some time, but she’d go to visit him at the office first thing tomorrow, sit down with him over coffee, and hear to what he had to say. Then, after that—who knew? Hopefully things would go back to normal, but she’d take it as it came. If they couldn’t fix this over a coffee break, it wasn’t the end of the world. She knew that even though Jack didn’t love her family, he did love her, and as long as he was willing to talk to her and work with her, they’d figure out a way to balance her needs with his.

Her self-satisfaction at having devised such a logical plan dissolved into thin air when she saw Jack’s ratty shoes outside the door. He’d brought them by a couple of months after she’d given him a key to her place, saying that he never wanted her to be scared when she entered her apartment and heard noises or saw someone silhouetted against the window. _This way you’ll always know it’s me, macushla_ , he’d said, and she’d smiled and hugged him. 

Their little code had worked quite well; the only time he’d failed to put the boots outside was when he’d brought the newsies over after Elmer had gotten soaked, so she always knew when to expect him and when she would be alone. And she had to admit that Jack’s idea had saved her an awful lot of mental stress. Jack was not a quiet visitor, and it could be unnerving to come home to hear pots banging in the kitchen or low muttering from the living room when you thought you were about to enter into total silence. 

_So he’s here, then. All right. Scrap your plan, Katherine, and go talk to him now._

She took a deep breath that she held as she unlocked the front door and entered the apartment. There was a light on in the living room, but she didn't hear a single word from Jack. She slipped out of her winter outerwear and walked to where she expected Jack to be, still holding her breath. 

He was asleep on the couch, his forehead creased in worry. He must have fallen asleep while sitting up for her to come home, because his torso was slumped sideways but his feet were flat on the floor. He looked wan and uncomfortable, and she felt a twinge for having been at all responsible for making him feel this way. Not that the fight was her fault, because she didn’t think that, but she still ached to know that he was hurting because of something he wouldn’t have to deal with if he were engaged to someone else. Anyone else.

“Jack?” Her voice was low, but he jerked awake with a muted cry as soon as she spoke. 

He blinked a few times, clearing the sleep from his eyes like a frowsy owl. “Ace?” He said. “I ain’t dreamin’, am I? It’s you?”

“It’s me,” she said, sitting next to him on the couch, settling into the warm spot where his head had just been. 

Jack flopped over onto her, curling his hands to his chest and twisting so that his feet were propped on the arm of the couch and his head was cradled in her lap. “I’m sorry, Ace. I was a real ass earlier, an’ I apologize.” 

“Can you tell me why you were so upset, Jack?” 

“I… I’m scared,” he whispered, pulling his hands even closer to his face and worrying at his fingernails with his teeth. 

“Scared of what?” 

He took a deep breath. “A whole bunch of things. Scared your family ain’t never gonna accept me. Scared that once you see me with them, you’ll see how much I don’t fit an’ never will. Scared you’s gonna choose them over me. Scared I’s gonna lose you.” He sighed. “An’ once I’ve had time ta worry about all that, I get mad at myself for thinkin’ you’d leave me for them, ‘cause that ain’t fair to you.” He gave a curt laugh and shook his head. “An’ then I get madder still for wantin’ you to choose me over them if you decide they’d make you happier than I could.” 

He reached out a tentative hand and laid it on her thigh. “Why can’t I just want what’s best for you, Ace, ‘stead of thinkin’ about what _I_ want? If you want them an’ not me, I should let you go. I should want you to do that if that's what you choose. I _want_ to want you to do that, but I don't. An' I wish I did.” He pulled his hand back in again and shuddered. “They’s your _family_ , Ace. Your _real_ family. I guess I didn’t want ta be put up against ‘em tonight an’ have us all see it ain’t gonna work. But not havin’ me there did that just as well, I expect.” She felt his chest heave against her leg. “I know you wanted me there tonight, love, an’ I shoulda gone. I shoulda told you all this before, too, ‘steada collapsin’ on ya all suddenlike…” She realized she was holding her breath again. “An’ if I weren’t so goshdarn scared, I would’ve. But I didn’t. So I’m sorry.” 

He closed his eyes. “If you decide for your real family over me, Ace, then I’ll accept it. I promise. If they’s the people you want, love, if you don’t want me after tonight, then I’ll abide by that. You need ta do what’s best for you, an’ I need ya ta know that’s what I want, too. Or that's what I will want. That's what I want to want. Even if it hurts to want that. Even if I can’t want that fully just yet.” He took a deep, slow breath, and then he and Katherine exhaled together. 

She began running her fingers through his hair, gently combing out the knots and mats that came from restless sleep. “I don’t think I have to choose you over them or them over you, love,” she said, placing her left hand on his jutting hip, feeling him tense and then relax into her. “You’re both my family. And I know we’re not married yet, but even without that piece of paper, you’re already my family just as much as they are. Maybe more so. Because I was born to them, but I picked you. And you picked me. And I’m not going to give up on that just because my family is wealthy and loud and terrifying. Are you?” 

“No way,” said Jack, his voice full of relief and already going muzzy with sleepiness. “But... for sure, Ace?”

“For sure, Jack." She smiled. "I’m not going to pick between anyone unless I’m made to, and when push comes to shove I’ll pick you. Every single time. For sure.” 

“For sure,” he mumbled, reaching a hand back out to caress her thigh, his fingers feather-light with exhaustion. “For sure.” 

Katherine kept stroking his head, feeling his breathing grow even, and she moved her left hand to run her fingers across his endearingly stubbled cheek. As she did so, a flash of tanzanite blue caught her eye. _Oh_. “Jack,” she said urgently, a stab of fear lancing her heart. “I… I have something to confess, too. My parents… my siblings… they don’t know that we’re engaged.” Her mouth went dry. “I was going to tell them tonight, with you there, but then… well, I didn’t. Because I’m scared, too, love. Sometimes I think all I do is driven by fear, and… But that’s not the point." She gave herself a mental kick.  _Focus, Katherine. This is important._  "The point is that I haven’t told them, and I’m sorry. Forgive me?” She held her breath for his response, fear spreading outwards from her chest and prickling down her arms and into her stomach. She felt the abyss between them grow with every passing second of silence, expanding and deepening until it was so vast and dark that she feared it would swallow her whole. “Jack?” 

Silence.

And then a snore. 

She almost cried in relief—or in sadness, or fear, or exhaustion, or dizziness from lack of food. She couldn’t tell. She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she was scared, and she was tired, and even though Jack was right there in her lap, she felt completely alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical notes:
> 
> Marie Curie was the first woman to win a Nobel Prize (she won her first on Dec 10, 1903, in physics).
> 
> The Majestic Theater in NYC began employing female ushers on Dec 16, 1903. It was the first theater in the US to do so.
> 
> The Pulitzers did have a second residence in France. Kate Pulitzer was known for being a fine hostess. 
> 
> Herbert Pulitzer, who was apparently nicknamed Tony, was the youngest Pulitzer child. He was born in 1896. His son, Herbert Jr., was married to Lilly Pulitzer (of fashion designer fame) from 1950 to 1969.
> 
> Sarah Bernhardt was a famous French actress who toured the US multiple times and was internationally beloved. She was the muse for all sorts of artists and famous for her beautiful voice and her beautiful appearance. She was nearly sixty at this point.
> 
> Also, *massive* thanks to Chloé for helping me settle on what the engagement ring should look like, because she knows lots about rings and I know absolutely nothing! We decided that Jack designed the ring himself and had a jeweler make it for him, so it incorporates a lot of little things that reference their relationship. Katherine's engagement ring is a claddagh with a Celtic-style band for the Irish connection with Jack, tanzanite symbolizes the head and the heart (which you could read as Katherine being the head and Jack being the heart, OR you could read it as Katherine being Jack's head and heart, either way), and Katherine's wearing it on her left hand with the tip of the heart pointed towards her fingers to symbolize that she's engaged. [Here's](http://www.celticjewelry.com/media/wysiwyg/blog/uploads/2013/08/rings2_example.jpg) what she and I were picturing, only with a tanzanite stone inside the heart. I liked the fact that it has a heart embedded in the design because "dear heart" is one of her pet names for him and "macushla" (my heart) is one of his pet names for her, so that ties in nicely. Claddagh rings also have some really lovely additional symbolism behind them, and you can read more about that [ here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Claddagh_ring#Usage_and_symbolism). The current design of the claddagh dates back to at least 1700. 
> 
> ***
> 
> Non-historical notes:
> 
> Well, kiddos, I hope that was worth the wait! It _is_ pretty darn long, so that + moving + job apps + family visiting + teaching hopefully excuses the delay in your eyes. ;) 
> 
> As always, I will squeal with glee at any feedback you feel inclined to share with me, and thank you so much for reading! <3


	4. January 1904: Six Months to the Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack works late and Katherine makes a decision.

Katherine picked up the telegram and read it again. It said the same thing it had the first ten times she’d read it, but she wanted to be sure. 

STUCK HERE NOLANS AWFUL WANNA PUNCH HIM INCREDIBLY SORRY ALLMYLOVE

Well, that was that; he wasn’t coming. _He would if he could_ , she scolded herself. _It’s not his fault his editor is unreasonable_. Still, part of her was irrationally angry with him for skipping out on meeting her family. Again. He was sorry, though—sorry enough to use two of his ten words to tell her just how sorry he was. Oh well, the best laid plans…

She sighed and adjusted the lace cuffs of her dress, casting a glance at the clock on the wall. She frowned, twisted her engagement ring around several times, and then, setting her jaw, she pulled the ring off her finger and laid it on her dresser. Straightening her shoulders and tossing her hair back over her shoulder, she marched out the door, leaving the luster of the claddagh ring to fade in the gathering dusk.

 

***

 

Jack didn’t finish work until eleven that night, and as a result he was in a foul mood. Half of the regular staff had called in sick today, and although Jack didn’t mind picking up the slack—everyone got sick sometimes, and the staff was a team, so they had to have each other’s backs—he did mind that Nolan wanted all of the illustrations to be just as detailed as ever. His hand ached from so much repetitive sketching and inking, his head ached from staring at sheets of paper all day, and his stomach ached from skipping dinner. Plus his heart ached over having let Katherine down (again) about getting to know her family, although this time it wasn’t his fault. He’d even been ready to go to this thing, too, ready to finally get it over with and find out once and for all what they were up against.

After the Christmas party fiasco, Katherine suggested they try to minimize the number of Pulitzer functions Jack had to go to by introducing him at the next family event that all of the Pulitzer children were sure to attend: Kate’s 46th birthday celebration. Katherine had given him a leather-bound planner for Christmas, and, as soon as he’d opened it, he’d flipped it to January 9th, pulled a pen out of his back pocket, and carefully inked “MEET THE FAMILY” on the top line. It was a simple action, instinctive and unconsidered, and so he was surprised when it earned him a peck on the cheek that quickly transitioned into a passionate French kiss, the urgent, successive removal of his sweater, shirt, and undershirt, and Katherine’s soft but hungry hands and lips exploring every inch of his bare skin.

He managed to ignore the weight of her in his lap and her lips on his stomach long enough to joke, “Well, gee, now I’m grateful I didn’t go to the party back then, look what I’d’ve missed.” 

Katherine kissed her way back up his chest and scolded him by saying, “No, you silly boy—you could’ve had this back then in addition to having it now.” But the rebuke in her words was undercut by the small noises of pleasure she was making as she sucked and nipped and hummed against his skin. And besides, what with the warmth of her breath tickling his chest, the wetness of her mouth causing him to melt seemingly everywhere at once, and the tug of her hands in his hair, he was finding it incredibly hard to hold onto a coherent thought, let alone feel guilty about something that had happened weeks ago.

“ _Katherine_ ,” he moaned, arching his back as her hands moved lower. “You— _oh_. _Oh!_ ” _Dammit, Katherine._ This girl was an angel, an angel sent straight from heaven, but dear goodness was he glad she’d shed some of her celestial purity on her way to him.

At any rate, he’d had that party in his calendar for weeks, and now he’d gone and missed it. He glanced at the clock in the lobby as he left and glowered even more darkly. He needed a hot dinner and an even hotter shower, but it was far too late to go back to the boarding house for either of those things. The communal kitchen would be locked up, and the hot water had long since been used by dozens of other hardworking men looking to scrub off an interminable day’s worth of sweat and dirt. He turned left to go to Katherine’s.

Thanks to the warm winter clothes he’d gradually been able to buy over the last few years, he wasn’t anywhere near as uncomfortable walking through the January snowbanks as he had been during his time as a newsie. Still, by the time he reached Katherine’s apartment he was yearning for that hot shower like a farmer yearns for good weather.

After getting no reply when he knocked on Katherine’s door, he let himself in and deduced, based on the absence of Katherine’s scarlet coat on the coatrack, that she wasn’t home. He slipped off his sturdy snow boots, placed an old pair of his shoes outside to signal to Katherine that he was here, and shed his outerwear as quickly as possible, snowflakes falling from his hair and clothes to melt on the hardwood floor.

He felt miles better simply due to the exertion of the long walk over, and the warm vanilla smell of Katherine’s apartment relaxed him even further. He grabbed a couple of clementines from the kitchen, peeling them each in one piece and then popping them whole into his mouth, one after the other. Juice dribbled down his chin as he chewed, and he wiped it away on his sleeve, grinning at the tang of citrus and the luxury of being able to waste even the smallest bit of food. Katherine had been pushing him to be indulgent every now and then, and although she was envisioning something grander than sloppy eating habits, this was all he felt capable of right now. The thrill of wasting fruit—fruit from far away, from subtropical Florida, or transatlantic Spain, or sun-drenched Mexico, who knew—sent chills down his spine. This was magnificent. And if working the occasional fifteen-hour day made this possible, then it was worth it, though he’d never let Nolan know.

Jack stripped to his undershirt and undershorts in the bathroom, whistling all the while. As he did so, he tossed each discarded item of clothing into the tub so that he could wash them while he showered. “Towel, towel, towel…” he half-sang to himself, searching the bathroom. “Oh, and clean clothes…” he turned his “to-find” list into a little ditty as he slipped from the bathroom to the bedroom. “Towel an’ clothes, towel an’ clothes,” he sang, unconsciously using the melody of Silent Night. “Where, oh, where is my towel an’ clothes…” He flicked on the light in Katherine’s bedroom and pulled open the top drawer of her dresser, which she’d left empty for him since the day she moved in (although it had taken her several weeks to muster up the courage to tell him so). 

He pulled a fluffy blue towel out of the drawer and placed it on the top of the dresser so that he had both hands free to rummage around and find a set of warm pants and a long-sleeved shirt. Clothes in hand, he pulled the towel off the dresser, only to hear a clinking sound as the towel snagged on something and knocked it into the drawer. Huh. Some change, maybe? A brooch? Perhaps a barrette, Katherine wore a lot of those… He laid his things on the bed and poked around to find the mystery object, and yes, there, there was something shiny in amongst his socks that definitely wasn’t his, and—he sucked in a breath as his fingers closed around it. Her ring. It was her _ring_.

His stomach lurched as he picked up the delicate gold band he’d spend months designing and then scrimped and saved to commission and purchase. The blue stone heart winked at him in the lamplight, mocking him. _You gave her your heart_ , it seemed to say, _but look, she doesn’t want it._ He swallowed hard and then bit his tongue to summon up a little bit of distracting pain. _That’s not true_ , _that’s not true, she must’ve had a reason…_  

But honestly, what reason could there be? This wasn’t a case of ‘oops it fell off;’ she had deliberately removed the ring, and she’d done it before going to her mother’s birthday party. A family event. A family event that they were supposed to attend together. And here she’d gotten rid of every trace of him before she'd gone. A sob stuck in his throat. 

“Jack?” 

He whirled around to see Katherine standing in the doorway to her bedroom, her cheeks beautifully rosy and her face pale from her trip home in the winter night.

“You took it off,” he said accusingly, brandishing the ring at her like the smoking gun at a trial. “Why, Ace? _Why?_ ” 

Her eyes widened, flying from his face to her ring to her barren left hand. “Oh no,” she whispered. 

He scoffed. He wasn’t falling for that. “Don’t act like you’s just now noticing you ain’t wearin’ your ring. You think I’m dumb, or what?” 

“No, that’s not it, I—” 

“ ‘Cause I ain’t dumb, Ace. Leastaways I didn’t think I was, but, well, maybe I am,” he huffed, slamming the ring back onto the top of the dresser. “I thought ya actually _wanted_ me ta meet your family, but I guess not, ‘cause soon’s you see an out, you takes it. Bet you was glad I couldn’t show up tonight, huh? Bet you read my telegram an’ thanked your lucky stars ya didn’t have ta introduce your lowborn slumdog improvement project _charity case_ ta your family.” 

“That’s not true!” Katherine shot back. “I’ve been begging you to meet them for _months_ , you’re the one who…” She shook her head. She’d forgiven him for not showing up to the Christmas party, and that meant it was over and done with. “What I mean to say is that I did want you to meet my family—I _do_ want you to meet my family! I was gutted when you said you couldn’t make it tonight, you can’t seriously believe that I didn’t want you there?” 

“What else am I s’posed ta think when I comes in here an’ sees your engagement ring lyin’ on the dresser?” He raised an eyebrow. Dead silence from Katherine. He let out a snort of air and nodded slowly. “So that’s how it is, then. You say you want me by your side forever an’ always, but when I ain’t there in person, ya ain’t even willin’ ta wear my ring.” A thought struck him, and he took a step closer to her. “Have you even told them we’s engaged?” He studied her face as she braced herself against the doorframe, scared and small. It didn’t take him long to read the answer in her eyes, and he bit his lips together, forestalling any words she wanted to say with a wave of his hand. 

Eyes glittering, he shifted his shoulders and brushed his nose with his hand. “Well, least now I know. Now we both know. You’s _ashamed_ of me, Katherine Pulitzer.” He laid a hand on his ribcage and laughed bitterly. “There it is. Out in the open at last. You’s ashamed ta be with me, an’ now I know.” 

Tears started to spill down Katherine’s cheeks, but all that elicited in Jack was a sick sense of satisfaction. _Good. Cry your heart out, Katherine; hurt the way you hurt me_. He grabbed his clean clothes off of her bed and pushed his way out of the bedroom, refusing to make eye contact with her as he left. She stood, frozen, listening as he yanked his jacket off the coatrack, jammed his feet into his boots, and slammed the apartment door behind him. The crack of the door broke the spell that held her, and she collapsed to the floor of the apartment, overcome with wretched, heaving sobs.

 

***

The next day was Sunday, a day that both Katherine and Jack used to gather their wits before another long workweek. Jack spent all morning in bed, his head jammed under his pillow, ignoring Crutchie’s cheery morning noises. He knew Crutchie knew that he was awake, but he also knew Crutchie would recognize and respect the fact that he didn’t want to talk, so he didn’t feel the least bit bad about letting his best friend get ready for the day without asking him how he’d slept or what his plans were or trying to make any of the usual chitchat. 

“See ya, Jack, I’m off ta have lunch with Rosie, Race, an' Albert,” Crutchie called, closing the door behind him. 

Jack flipped from his stomach onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Where on earth did they go from here? Katherine was _ashamed_ of him. She might want to marry him, and he dearly wanted to marry her, but how could he reconcile that with the fact that she didn’t want to be with him in places where people from her old life –her other life– could see him? Could you love someone and not want to be seen with them? Could he resign himself to being her husband in the shadows? He loved her beyond reason; envisioning a future without Katherine was like envisioning a future without art or air or stars. His palms still grew sweaty every time he saw her, whenever he heard something funny she was the first person he wanted to share it with, even after last night he'd still trust her with his life… was that worth giving up over something like this? He thought he could bear it, but could Katherine? And what if they had children? How would she explain that away? Highfalutin traveling international financier absent husband or something, he supposed… 

His thoughts were interrupted by a muffled knock at the door. He cleared his throat, scratchy from not having spoken since leaving Katherine’s apartment. “Come in, it ain’t locked,” he said, then immediately wished he hadn’t. 

The door handle turned slowly, and he saw a pointy-toed boot nudge it the rest of the way open. It was Katherine, edging her way into his room, her arms full with a stack of his freshly laundered clothes and a sack of clementines. “Hi,” she said timidly, placing his clothing on the washstand and the food on the bed. “Can we talk?” 

“Mmmph,” he said, sitting up in bed and motioning to her to sit on Crutchie’s bed, which was on the opposite side of the room. Katherine laid her hat on Crutchie’s pillow and sank into the saggy mattress as Jack adjusted his legs in front of him and hugged his knees. 

“About last night…” Katherine began, picking at a worn spot on her skirt, “I’m sorry. I took it off because I didn’t think you’d ever know, that’s true, and that was wrong.”

He gave a harrumph and leaned his head back against the wall. 

“But I didn’t do it because I was ashamed of you,” she said, and he was struck by the fact that her voice was matter-of-fact rather than pleading. “I did it because I’m scared of my family.” He gave her a skeptical look and she shrugged. “I’m scared of them in a different way from you, I think, but I’m still scared of them.” She sighed. “Anyway, I wanted to tell them about our engagement in person, because I thought that would be the polite thing to do, and I wanted to do it with you there, because, well—I thought that if they met you, if they saw how bright and brave and _good_ you are, if they saw you the way I see you…” Her voice faltered and she dropped her gaze to her hands, which were folded in her lap, the engagement ring winking brightly on her left ring finger. “Then they couldn’t help but love you. I was certain of it. I _am_ certain of it,” she amended. 

She looked up at him, seeking permission to continue. He gave a curt nod. 

“Well, you know how busy we were when we got back from Five Points, and Mama was in France, and so the Christmas party was the first chance I had to tell them all in person and with you there.” 

“And I didn’t go,” Jack croaked, his throat still dry.

“I could have told them anyway,” she said sadly. “I was planning to; I wore the ring and tried to tell my mother, but she was in hostess mode and didn’t listen, and I was too scared to force it, and then I got a little bit drunk and my sister sent me home, so…” She rubbed at her temples. “Well. Excuses, excuses. I didn’t tell them. So I decided I’d tell them the next time you and I met them, which would have been yesterday, and then…”

“And then I didn’t go again,” Jack said, his eyes softer now. 

“I still could have said something,” she said, shaking her head. “But I got scared. Again. So I took the ring off before I even left the apartment so that they wouldn’t ask me about it. And I was wrong to do that. I let you down, Jack. It’s like I threw your love and your loyalty and your kindness and your honesty right back in your face, and I can’t… I’m so…” she began to weep, her shoulders shaking and her voice catching as she continued to speak. “How… How can you ever forgive me after something like that?” She sobbed, and her face crumpled completely, but she refused to bow her head or pull out a handkerchief. “I don’t deserve you, Jack, I never have, and this just proves it.” Tears were cascading down her face now, dripping off her chin and onto her bodice, and snot was running from her nostrils and over her lips, but she made no move to wipe any of it away. “I’m so sorry, Jack. So… so very sorry.” 

Jack’s expression was now one of total concern, every last trace of anger and hurt washed away with Katherine’s confession. He leaped off of his bed to kneel in front of her and held her hands, kissing the tears that had fallen there. “Macushla,” he murmured in between kisses, “darling, you…” 

“I’m not done,” she said, crying even harder. “If you’ll still have me, if you don’t hate me the way you ought to, if you haven’t realized you’re too good for me and I can’t ever live up to you, then I’m going to tell them about our engagement right now.” She sniffled and hiccupped. “I’m never taking this ring off again, Jack, not for anything, not unless you ask for it back, and so I’m going to go knock on my parents’ door right now and tell them that I am engaged to Jack Kelly, the love of my life, the best newspaper illustrator in New York City, the fearless leader of the newsboys’ strike, and…” She coughed, choking on her tears and snot. “And the bravest, most beautiful boy in the world.” 

“And I’m coming with you,” he said, straightening up to wipe her tears away with his fingers. “I’ll be there, right by your side.” 

“You will?” She asked, his words prompting a fresh set of heaving sobs. 

“For sure,” he said, giving her a tender smile. “I forgive you, Ace, of course I forgive you. Forgiven and forgotten; all ya had ta do was ask and mean it.” 

She cried even harder at that, sinking her head onto his shoulder and wrapping her arms around him. He reciprocated, pulling her tightly to him and rubbing her back. “Shh, darlin’, shh. It’s okay. I love you, you silly goose. You ain’t gonna get rid of me so easily.” He turned his head to kiss her hair, hanging long and loose down her back. “I love you forever an’ always, Ace. You’re more complicated and stubborn and courageous and wonderful than anyone I could’ve dreamed up, an’ I love every gorgeous, difficult bit of ya.” 

“I love you, too,” she said, shuddering against him, her sobs finally beginning to slow. “I love you more than I knew it was possible to love someone. I love you so much that sometimes I think I might burst. I love you more than I love anything else in this whole damn world.” She lifted her head and looked him straight in the eyes, her face blotchy and her eyelashes wet with tears. “I love you, Jack Kelly. And it’s time my parents knew.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What I learned about telegrams while writing this chapter: Telegram service was dominated by Western Union at the time, and they were trying to compete with the telephone. Telegrams helped make national (and international) news possible by allowing for quick transmission of long messages—newspapers received discounted rates for telegrams, but stories were still expensive to send, so apparently reporters would smush words together or use shorthand in order to pay less (which is why Jack does this). A 10-word telegram cost roughly 50 cents at this time (that’s the standard rate, not the newspaper rate). A punctuation mark required enough effort to transmit through the telegraph system that each punctuation mark counted as a whole word, which is why people were counseled to use “stop” instead of periods (easier to type, cost the same amount). But apparently you were only supposed to use “stop” when you absolutely had to in order to make the meaning clear. Here’s a fun "how to write a telegram" guide from 1928 if you want to learn more: http://www.telegraph-office.com/pages/telegram.html 
> 
> Kate Davis Pulitzer’s birthday was Jan 9, which was a Saturday in 1904. She turned 46.
> 
> ***
> 
> Drama, drama! :O But hey, they've talked this out, thank heavens, so... smooth sailing ahead? (Hardly. But you can hope. :P )
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you liked it!


	5. February 1904: Five Months to the Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Race is obnoxious and Davey admires a car. Also Jack and Kath do stuff. Most of this chapter is Jack and Katherine doing one thing or another, in fact. As per the usual. Surprise.

Jack had one pencil clenched between his teeth and was using another to sketch some preliminary lines for his next cartoon. He was totally absorbed in his work, lost in a world that started and ended on the page in front of him.

That world went dark without warning, as soft, feminine fingers slid over his eyes. “Guess who!” A voice chirped behind him.

He grinned and took the pencil out of his mouth. “Hmm, let’s see, what’s the name of the pretty girl who visits me on Wednesdays? Is Nora the one who comes on Wednesdays, or is that Charlotte?”

“Jaaaack!” Katherine protested, stretching onto her tiptoes and leaning forward to press against his back.

“OH, it’s Katherine! Katherine’s the pretty girl who visits me on Wednesdays.” She rolled her eyes and let her hands fall from his face to his upper arms, which she smacked indignantly. He turned his head so that he could just see her out of the corner of his eye and gave her a wink. “Except usually Katherine meets me in the lobby of her building, not at my desk. Somethin’ wrong, love?”

“No,” she said, poking her head over his shoulder to give him a peck on the cheek. “Father said he needed to talk to me about something, and we decided it would be easiest for me to meet him here. Couldn’t resist stopping by to say hello to you on my way in.”

“I am pretty irresistible,” he said, curling his arms upwards so that he could hold her hands.

“Mhmm,” she agreed, resting her head on top of his newsie cap.  

“Whad’ya think he wants ta talk about?”

He felt her shrug against his back. “Not sure; I’m hoping maybe he’s got a freelance story assignment for me. He knows things have been slow for me over at _The Sun_ lately… We talked a little about the elevated railroads on the phone last night, so maybe something to do with that? The court issued a verdict on Hattie Codrington’s death on Monday—” Jack patted her right hand to signal he needed a little more information. “Oh, she’s the lady who boarded the train as it was moving, fell off, and was run over? It happened about two weeks ago.” He shuddered, and Katherine gave his shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “Anyway, the jury said that the railroad company was at fault for not making things safe enough, and I’m sure it’s no coincidence that yesterday Assemblyman Cahn introduced a bill in the state legislature that would make it a misdemeanor to start the train if there’s a passenger on the platform of a car, so there’s something brewing there.”

She paused, her mind already whirring to puzzle out how politicians and interest groups were going to try to capitalize on this woman’s death. “Oh, and there was a rear-end collision on the Brooklyn Rapid Transit yesterday, too—the motorman thought he had more room to stop than he did and rammed right into the train ahead of him. Seven people were injured, but no one died, thank heavens.” She rubbed her hands up and down his arms thoughtfully. “So there are stories there, for sure. I just don’t know if I’m going to be the one who gets to tell them.”

“Well, if you wanna tell those stories, Ace, then Joe would be a fool to hire anyone but you ta do it.”

“Thanks, love,” she said, working her fingers through his knotted shoulder muscles.

“Mmm, that feels good,” he said, tipping his head back to look up at Katherine. He knew she loved his eyes; he was well aware of where her gaze lingered when she thought he wasn’t looking. And right now he meant to take full advantage of that. “You sure you have to go? You could just stay here, you know. I wouldn’t mind. Your pops could stand right over there an’ you could just… _oof_ … that’s it, right there…” He closed his eyes, a lazy smile spreading across his face. “Don’t go. Whatever Joe has for ya, I swear I’m better.”

She laughed and pushed his head forward. “Go on, you big goof. It’s the middle of your workday, you’ve got news to illustrate and political incompetence to skewer.”

“Don’t wanna,” he whined, twisting around in his chair to catch at her sleeves. “I like you more.”

“I should hope so,” she said archly, taking a quick peek at his drawing, “Seeing as it looks like you’re drawing something about the Baltimore fire.”

“Okay, so not the best example,” he admitted. “But still…”

“I’ll see you tonight at Jacobi’s,” she said, tugging her arm away from him. “And don’t monopolize Davey this week, alright? I want to hear what he has to say about the educational unification bill.”

Jack gave a heavy sigh. “Fine.”

Katherine stifled a giggle. “So dramatic, Mr. Kelly. I think you missed your calling in the theater.”

“Speaking of which,” Jack said, perking back up, “How’d you like to see a show with me on Saturday? Miss Medda’s got a new production that I finished the backdrops for last week, an’ I wanna show ‘em off to you.”

“I’d love to,” she said, leaning down to kiss him on the lips. Highly inappropriate behavior for a workplace, yes, but there were perks to being the boss’ daughter and future son-in-law. “See you tonight.”

He gave her a wink and a nod and turned back to his work, humming happily as he sketched flames and fire engines.

 

***

The boys were halfway through their meal by the time Katherine finally showed up. “Kath! Where’ve ya been!” Albert hopped halfway out of his seat and waved wildly to catch her attention, as if they hadn’t been eating dinner at the same table at Jacobi’s every single Wednesday night for the last four and a half years.

“Do you mean emotionally, or physically? Because those two questions have very different answers,” she said, plopping into the empty chair next to Specs with a loud thump.

The boys traded looks as Kath sank her head in her hands. “Uh… I was thinkin’ physic’ly, but if ya needs ta, um… ta talk… we’re… here for ya?” Albert ventured, looking over at Jack to make sure he was on the right track.

“No, it’s okay,” she said, lifting her head and shaking it as if to banish whatever was weighing on her. “Sorry, didn’t mean to be a wet blanket. Long day, is all.”

“So I take it your pops didn’t give ya the railroad story?” Jack asked, reaching across the table to clasp her hand.

“Not yet,” she said, “But I’m going to keep chasing it.”

“Atta girl, Kath,” said Race, popping her in the shoulder. She rolled her eyes and flicked his ear, causing him to yelp and spring out of his chair. “Geez, girlie! I’m gonna go get ya some pie, sweeten ya up.” He went to find the nearest waiter, giving her a wounded look and holding his ear as he left.

“I’d rather have matzo ball soup,” she called after him, and he pulled a face before giving her a thumbs up.

“You sure you’re okay, Kath?” Davey asked, his older brother instincts kicking in.

“Yeah, yeah, nothing to worry about.” She smoothed her hair back and gave the table a brilliant smile. “See? I’m fine! I’ll tell you what though, boys, I _am_ going to be upset if I don’t get to talk to Davey about the educational unification bill tonight. Get over here, Davey,” she said, patting Race’s recently vacated seat.

Albert hooted and shoved Davey forward as he got up to switch spots. “Hold on, Jackie-boy, they’re gonna get going with that professor talk pretty soon, an’ then it’s all over for you an’ me understandin’ this conversation.”

“I dunno what you’re talkin’ about, Albert—I think we been plenty intellectual tonight even without Kath,” Jack said, straightening up from his relaxed slouch, adjusting his tie, and steepling his fingers in an imitation of what the boys thought teachers ought to look like.

Specs smiled into his lemonade. “If arguin’ about whether or not we could soak a pack of livin’, breathin’ snowmen is intellectual, then I’m the Queen of England.”

“England’s got a King now, dummy,” said Race, returning with a bowl of hot soup for Katherine. “An’ of course we could soak ‘em. I don’t see why you think we couldn’t.” He frowned, realizing his chair was occupied. “Hey, why’s Davey gone an’ taken my seat next to the prettiest girl in the room?”

“You wanna get yourself uninvited from this weddin’ or what, ya lumpkin?” Jack said, crumpling up his napkin and throwing it at Race. “You ain’t wrong about her looks, but that’s my soon-ta-be wife you’re talkin’ about there!”

“Missed me, missed me, now ya gotta kiss me,” taunted Race, holding his hands up to his ears and waggling them at Jack.

“Only person ‘round here I’m kissin’ is my _fiancée,_ you halfwit!” Jack looked around for something else to chuck at Race, but he came up empty. “Hey, Al, you finished eatin’? Lemme toss your fries at Race.”

Jack stretched sideways to grab a fistful of Albert’s French fries, but Albert blocked Jack’s efforts by pulling his plate closer to him and hunkering down over it like a mother hen protecting her chicks. “Heck no! Get your own food, Kelly!”

Race winked. “Albert here is a true blue friend, he’d never give you ammunition against me,” he said, draping himself over Albert and sneaking a hand in to pull out a French fry.

“Hey! I just said those’re mine!” Albert swatted Race’s hand away, causing Race to drop the fry on the floor. “Beat it, dingbat!” Albert bent to pick the potato off the floor, popping it in his mouth.

As he did, Race snatched his plate and ran off with a wave. “See ya later, fellas!”

“Higgins! Get back here!” Albert jumped up and dashed after Race.

“First ya want him ta beat it, now ya want him ta come back? Make up your mind, kiddo!” Jack called, cupping his hands around his mouth so that both boys would be able to hear him.

“Screw you, Kelly!” Albert hollered back, flying through the door onto the street, hot on Race’s heels.

“Never a dull moment,” said Davey with a wry grin, hanging over the back of his chair to watch the chase.

“Jacobi’s gonna want that plate back,” mused Specs.

“I’ll pay for it,” said Katherine. “Entertainment like that is worth every penny.”

 

***

 

Davey and Jack were touring the Smith and Mabley Manufacturing Co. showroom, trying to act as if they had the money and the time to make use of a $5500 touring car. They were inspecting the headlights on the 1904 model when Davey turned to Jack and said, “Has Katherine seemed a little off to you lately?”

“How so?” Jack asked, leaning over the front of the car to inspect the inline-four engine. “Say, Davey, how fast d’ya think we could take her on a straightaway like the Brooklyn Bridge?”

“I dunno, just a little on edge, I guess.” Davey moved to peer over the side of the open-top car, checking out the gear shift. His mouth fell open. “Four speeds, Jackie, look!” He motioned Jack over, and Jack whistled in appreciation. “D’you think she could hit thirty?”

“Easy peasy,” Jack said, biting his lip and shaking his head in wonder, itching to climb into the driver’s seat. “Maybe even thirty-five… she’s a beaut, ain’t she?”

“Mmm,” said Davey, still distracted by the glory of the four-speed transmission.

“Yeah, she’s been a bit off lately…” Jack said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Davey straightened and wrinkled his brow. “Huh? The car’s brand new, she looks fine to me.”

“No, I mean Kath,” Jack said. “I’m agreein’ with ya—I think she’s been a bit off. I was hopin’ it was just work, an’ she’s seemed better the past coupla days, but if you’ve noticed it, too…”

“Have you asked her what’s going on?”

Jack gave Davey an incredulous look. “Gimme some credit, Davey! She wouldn’t’ve said yes ta me if I had the emotional intelligence of a rock. Of _course_ I’ve asked her what’s goin’ on.” Davey had the grace to look slightly chastened. “It’s just that she keeps puttin’ me off. An’ after a certain point ya gotta drop it, ya know? She’ll tell me in her own good time or she won’t tell me at all, but I ain’t gonna keep pesterin’ her about somethin’ she clearly doesn’t wanna talk about.”

“Fair,” Davey said. Then, after a moment’s consideration, “Still, I’m a little worried about her, you know? Anything I can do?”

“Just remind her you’re there if she needs ya, I guess,” Jack said with a shrug. “That’s all I can think ta do right now, but if you have better ideas then I’m all ears.”

Davey shook his head. “No, but if I get an inside scoop I’ll fill you in.”

“Thanks. Guess I can try again tonight, see if maybe she’s feelin’ chattier.”

“Well, good luck, and—oh, here comes the floor manager, I think we’d better skidoo before he asks us what we’re planning on purchasing…”

“Yup,” said Jack, whipping his cap out of his back pocket and following Davey through the showroom doors and into the frigid February air.

 

***

 

Katherine was indeed feeling a bit off, but she thought she was doing an excellent job of hiding it. As she cuddled with Jack on her bed, curled up against his chest, she congratulated herself on the fact that, so far, none of the boys had caught her crying, none of them had commented on how it was taking her a little longer than usual to respond to their comments, and none of them had seemed to pick up on how she redirected any mention of her family to a different, safer topic.

Sure, Jack had done some probing the first week or so, and then Crutchie and Davey had picked up the slack for a little while, but she was pretty sure that now she was in the clear. She only had to hang on for another five months, anyway, because she’d feel better after the wedding, when it was all over and done with and there was no sense fretting about it anymore because it was in the past, and things were the way they were, and she was married and that was the main thing, but, well, right now it hurt. It hurt a lot.

“I’d better go, macushla,” Jack said, interrupting her train of thought.

She clutched at the bottom of his rumpled undershirt, which had come untucked at some point in the evening. “Do you have to?”

“Well, unless you want me to stay here on your bed all night, and we both know how risky that is.”

She sighed. “I thought there was no way for me to want you any more than I did before we got engaged, but I swear, this gets harder with every passing month. We were idiots to come sit on my bed, it’s practically torture.”

“You’re telling me,” he groaned, gently shifting her off of him and stretching his arms. “Maybe I should just go to Santa Fe until the wedding, keep both of us chaste and sane.”

She flopped back onto her pillows and flung an arm over her eyes. “Chaste, yes, but sane, no.”

“Yeah, I guess we’re too far gone for sanity to be an option,” he chuckled, moving so that he was straddling her, one strong arm braced on either side of her head. He dipped to kiss her on the lips, taking her bottom lip between his teeth and tugging it ever so slightly.

She sucked in a breath and her hands flew to cradle his cheeks and pull him close, but he’d already pushed himself off the bed and started gathering his cap, dress shirt, tie, and waistcoat off of the floor. “It doesn’t help when you drive me crazy on purpose,” she complained. “You’re the worst kind of tease, you know that?”

“Oh, you give as good as you get,” he said breezily, blowing her a kiss as he left the bedroom. “I’ll see ya in a couple of days, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said, pouting. She heard the door close and laid there for several moments, thoughts whirling. She knew that he was gone, the night was over, she should pull out her clothes for tomorrow, she should shower, she should get ready for bed… or she should at least move enough to fall asleep underneath the covers. It was cold, after all. But she couldn’t make herself do any of those things. 

She was hit by a sudden sense of loss, and it was stupid, it was so stupid—in marrying Jack, she was gaining the person she valued most in the world, and all she was losing was… her parents’ approval? Their support? Their presence in her life? She wasn’t sure how far they’d take it, and she wasn’t even sure how much she minded, exactly, but she feared the worst, and the not-knowing made the worst seem even more awful.

She let out a dry sob and covered her mouth in her hands, letting her face fall and giving in, not to genuine tears, but to choking gasps and ugly noises that she didn’t want anyone to hear. Then the hallway echoed with the low noise of the door closing again, and Katherine stopped mid-sob.

“Forgot my scarf, musta dropped it while trying to put everything else on,” Jack called. “Gives me an excuse to come back an’ give you a proper goodnight kiss, though,” he said, his voice drawing nearer.

Katherine hastily wiped at her nose and eyes and put on what she hoped was a convincingly happy expression. As soon as Jack poked his head through the doorway, she knew she’d failed.

“Ace, what’s the matter?” He was back on the bed and at her side in half a second, pulling her close and pressing a kiss to her tangled hair.

“It’s nothing,” she said, covering her face with her hands so that he could no longer see the evidence of her emotions.

He snorted. “We’ve been playin’ this game for nigh-on three weeks now, love. _Somethin’s_ wrong, and I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what.”

“What if you can’t help even if you do know what?”

He frowned. “I can always help. I might not be able to fix it, but I can help you carry it, and sometimes that’s enough to make it bearable.”

Silence. Then: “It’s stupid,” she said, her face still hidden.

“If it’s got you upset, it’s not stupid.”

She sniffled and slowly took her hands away from her face. “It’s my parents,” she said hesitantly.

“I figured. What’ve they done this time? –Not that I’m badmouthin’ ‘em, you understand,” he added quickly, “It’s just that they seem to have a knack for rockin’ our little boat.”

“They aren’t coming to the wedding,” she said, and her face crumpled. Keeping it in her head had allowed her to keep it contained, keep it hypothetical, keep it far away from what she hoped would be a blissfully happy day, but now she’d gone and said it out loud, and saying it out loud made it real. She began to cry.

“Oh, baby,” he said, his face falling, too. “I’m so sorry.” He pulled her in tight, letting her cry herself out against him. When she’d finished, subsiding into hiccups and ragged breaths, he gave her a kiss on the forehead and looked her straight in the eyes. “That’s the sort of thing you need to tell me, love. How long have you been holding this on your own?”

“Since Father called me into his office earlier this month,” she said, sniffling. “He wanted to talk about this, not about giving me a story.”

Jack sighed and rubbed her shoulders. “I’m not mad, darlin’, but why didn’t you tell me then?”

“Because it’s such a small problem to have!” She burst out. “I’m so lucky to even _have_ parents, I shouldn’t be upset that they’re not coming to a one-day event. It’s just an afternoon, it’s not that big a deal.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“You know what I mean. Sure, I’m sad about it, but how could I dump this problem on _you_ , Jack? At least I have parents who can decide whether or not they’re coming—you don’t even have that! Your parents will not be at our wedding, they won’t be there to meet our children, they can’t hold you tight or admire who you’ve become or laugh with you about silly things you did when you were small.” Her mouth quivered. “Mine can. They might choose not to, but they’re still alive, they’re still here, I get to have them in my life in all sorts of little ways that you just… don’t. Ways you never have.”

She was back to crying again. “You’ve missed out on things you don’t even know you could’ve had, Jack, and you’ve had to fight and run and scramble so hard without them, and yet you’ve never once given into the self-pity you’d be completely entitled to feeling. And here I am, upset that—what, that my parents aren’t getting in a taxi to see me parade around in a white dress for a couple of hours?” She scoffed and looked up at him, his wonderfully familiar face blurry through her tears. “So tell me, Jack, how could I justify burdening you with this stupid little blip in my undeservedly perfect life?”

He smiled sadly. “Your life ain’t perfect, love. And it’s not your fault that you have parents, an’ it’s not your fault that I don’t. I don’t hold your parents against you, you know; I’m glad you’ve still got ‘em around for all the little things you mentioned—and for all the big things, too.” He sighed and shifted so that his legs didn’t go numb. “Am I sad my parents can’t be at my wedding? That they’ll never meet you, they’ll never see how I made good, they’ll never hold my children…” he trailed off and then shook himself. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sad about that. But I’ve had time to get used to it. Some days it still hurts, an’ I bet it’ll hurt again near to the weddin’ day, but it’s an old hurt now. I know how to carry it.” He pushed a lock of hair back from her face. “I’ve known for years that my parents weren’t gonna be at my wedding; you only found out three weeks ago.”

“But—yours is so much _worse_!” She knew it was coming out all wrong, but she didn’t care.

He startled her by laughing. “This ain’t the trauma Olympics, darlin’! Your pain is different from my pain, an’ there’s no sense in comparin’ the two. Sure, if my parents had died last year or the year before, you’d need to go to Davey or someone else with this, at least for the heaviest parts of it, but they’ve been dead for…” he clicked his tongue as he thought. “Well, my da’s been gone for thirteen years, an’ my ma for even longer. So your pain is fresher, an’ that’s the pain we need to take care of right now.” He rubbed her shoulders. “Besides, I adored my parents, an’ I know they would’ve showed up if they could. It’s a different kind of hurt when they could be there an’ decide not to. Makes me want to give Joe a real shiner.”

“Sometimes I want you to, too.” Katherine gave a laugh that slid into a sob. “Oh Jack, you should’ve seen his face, he was so proper and stern with his, ‘Katherine, your mother and I have discussed this, and I am certain you will understand our position…’” She dropped her voice to imitate the media mogul and then, returning to her normal timbre, exclaimed, “I’m their _daughter_! And I understand how society works, so I’m not asking them to announce it in the papers or throw us an engagement party—I just… I just really wanted them to be there on the day.”

Jack laid his head on hers and gave her a hug. “I want that for you, too.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” she murmured. “If they don’t want to be there, I shouldn’t want them there, but… I do. I’ve tried not to, but I can’t help it. I’m going to be making a formal commitment to you and to our future together, a holy promise to stand by your side no matter what, and I want everyone I love to witness that. I want my parents to be a part of my wedding day. I want my father to walk me down the aisle, I want my mother to help me button up my wedding dress and cry when you put the ring on my finger, I want them to dance at the reception and eat sloppy finger food and wave as we leave for our honeymoon.”

Jack smiled. “You paint the prettiest pictures with your words, love.”

She sighed and traced lazy circles on the palm of his hand. “Thanks for listening. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, I just—I just didn’t want to hurt you more. I know my problems are so small, and I didn’t want… it seemed silly, is all.”

“If it’s important to you, it’s important to me,” he said, curling his hand around her fingers to hold them still. She turned to look up at him, and her breath hitched at the intensity of his expression. “We’re a team, love. Anything that’s weighing on you is gonna weigh on me, an’ we gotta get better at sharing those burdens equally.” He brushed his tousled hair back from his forehead and shook his head. “I’m includin’ myself in that. So you keep bein’ patient with me, help me talk to you about the real things, an’ I’ll do the same for you.” He gave her a stern look. “Deal?”

“Deal.” She paused, and then, grinning, spat in her free hand and extended it to him to shake.

He threw his head back in laughter before mimicking her gesture, their spit mingling against their palms as they shook hands. “Lord love you, Ace; you’re a real peach.”

She gave him a mischievous smile and then threw her arms around him. “If I’m a peach, then you’re a plum.” She giggled, her breath tickling his neck. “You’re my favorite person, Jack Kelly, do you know that?”

“Yeah,” he said, still laughing. “Yeah, I do.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical notes: 
> 
> All of the elevated train stuff and the terminology used in Katherine’s little monologue is taken from the _New York Times_ ’ issues from February 9 and 10, 1904. I have Katherine visiting Jack at his office on Wednesday, February 10, so the days and dates of the events are accurate. The other little news tidbit about the proposed educational reform bill is something else I lifted from the _Times_ , but the article wasn’t detailed enough for me to understand what was going on. 
> 
> Goof wasn’t used to mean “stupid person” until 1916, and it probably took longer than that for it to be used in the sense Katherine’s using it here, but it stays because I spent far too long looking for period-appropriate alternatives and didn’t like anything I found nearly as much as ‘goof.’
> 
> The editions of the _Times_ that I was looking at were full of news about some terrible and extensive fires in Baltimore. NYC sent some of its firemen to help with the situation. They came home safe and with a new canine mascot that was oh so creatively named Baltimore. 
> 
> Wet blanket is period-appropriate! Took me a while to find a slang term that was. Dingbat is about 5-10 years off, but eh, close enough. Also, according to etymonline.com, the “command beat it 'go away' [was] first recorded 1906 (though 'action of feet upon the ground' was a sense of Old English betan); it is attested in 1903 as newsboy slang for ‘travel without paying by riding on the outside of a train.’” Given that last bit, I simply had to use the phrase somewhere in this fic. Skidoo was another popular slang term at this time, so I had Davey use it (it’s like skedaddle. I’ve heard skedaddle and skedoodle, but maybe my family made up skedoodle, because I can only find skidoo).
> 
> Queen Victoria died in 1901; Edward VII took over after that.
> 
> Paper napkins were invented in 1887, but they weren’t widespread until 1931 (according to the one website I looked for information on :P ). 
> 
> Apparently a lot of cars were manufactured in NYC at the turn of the century (over 50 different manufacturers set up shop there between 1900 and 1920) because cars were for rich people and rich people lived in NYC. In 1900, there were about 8,000 cars in the US, and nearly 1/3 of them belonged to residents of NYC. [Here’s more information](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crane-Simplex) on the dealership that I sent Jack & Davey to (although I don’t know if car dealerships were a thing back then). I also know very little about cars, so I stole all of the information from Wikipedia and from looking at pictures of the 1904 Smith and Mabley model.
> 
> ***
> 
> Non-historical notes: 
> 
> I suppose technically you can’t miss what you’ve never had, but… I think you absolutely can, and so does Katherine. 
> 
> Also, after this Jack absolutely goes to yell at Joe & Kate about how Katherine is their _daughter_ , this is their _daughter’s wedding_ , and she wants them there, and how dare they hurt her like this, do they even _know_ how _upset_ she’s been? She loves them, although the way he sees it they aren’t being very lovable right now, but she loves them and wants them there so he expects to see them at the church with their _happiest faces on_ , or else. He’s bested Pulitzer once before, and he’ll do it again if he has to—just see if he won’t, they all know he’s more than capable of singlehandedly causing the scene they’re hoping to avoid by skipping the wedding and not announcing it in the papers. And if they’re still not convinced, then let him just add that, barring his premature death, this is going to be the only wedding that Katherine ever has, meaning that this is their one shot to watch her get married, and if they aren’t there to see it then they’ll regret it the rest of their lives, because she’s going to be the most beautiful bride in the whole damn world, and trust him, that is a sight they won’t want to miss. Their mouths fall open, they are stunned, who is this boy to tell them how to behave in their relationship with their daughter… but they listen, and they relent. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! :) 
> 
> Also: Happy birthday, Grace! <3


	6. March 1904: Four Months to the Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack learns a little about birds and a lot about weddings.

“I still don’t know how you got my parents to change their minds about coming to the wedding,” Katherine said, rolling a new piece of paper into her typewriter. It was a brand-new Corona 3 model, foldable and portable and equipped with a little carrying case, making it perfect for shuttling between work and home. And perfect for branching out into a little bit of travel reporting, too—not yet, but maybe soon. Katherine figured that if she could persuade her editor to spring for a Corona 3, she’d probably be able to wheedle her way into an out-of-town assignment in the next several months.

Jack lifted his head up from the sofa to make eye contact with Katherine and then shrugged. “I used ta be the best-sellin’ newsie in Manhattan, remember? I’ve got a silver tongue.” She arched an eyebrow, clearly wanting more, but he just winked and went back to flipping through the copy of _The Color Key to North American Birds_ that Davey had borrowed for him from the Columbia University library. 

She heaved an exaggerated sigh and gave up. “Well, however you did it, I’m just grateful that you did. I’m feeling excited about the wedding again, and I hadn’t thought that was possible!”

“Ouch—I’m hurt there was ever a time when you weren’t excited,” Jack teased, earmarking the page with the red-backed junco as one to come back to later. “It ain’t every day you get to marry a fella as handsome as me.” 

Katherine ignored him. “I’ve been able to get back to planning, too—I’ve got ideas for flowers and venues that we should discuss at some point.”

“Okay,” he said, distracted by his birds.

“Edith and Constance said yes, though, so that’s taken care of, at least,” she said, tapping a pencil against her desk as she tried to formulate the next sentence of her article. “I was a little worried Mama or Father might not let them do it, but whatever you said must have put the fear of God into them, because Edie and Connie didn’t even hesitate.”

Jack flipped through a couple of pages of gnatcatchers and chickadees before settling down to look at the nuthatches. He liked nuthatches—in contrast to most birds, they hopped down trees headfirst, always bright-eyed and ready for whatever they were about to face.

Katherine typed for a few minutes and then turned her attention back to Jack. “Who have you asked?”

Jack blinked and lowered the book onto his chest. “About what?”

“The wedding, Jack! Haven’t you been listening?”

“I asked you, didn’t I? Do I need ta ask anyone else?”

Katherine gave him an incredulous look. “I’m your bride, Jack, not your best man.”

“Wait, what?” He wrinkled his forehead. 

“Your best man? I’m not your best man.”

Jack blinked.

“Jack. Do you know how weddings work?”

Jack spluttered. “Sure I do! We find a church willin’ ta do the honors, I wear a fancy suit an’ stand at the altar an’ don’t see you all day until Joe walks you down the aisle, the priest says a few things, we promise to, uh, love each other an’ all that, and…” He trailed off, trying to remember the stories from when Buttons’ oldest sister got hitched. “Oh! We exchange rings, and then I get to kiss you in front of everyone. In a _church_.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Guess that means God’ll be watching, huh?” He flashed Katherine a wink and a wolfish smile. “I hope he likes a good show, ‘cause I’m sure gonna give him one.” 

“God is always watching,” Katherine muttered under her breath, “But sometimes I wish he weren’t, because I would love to smack you upside the head right now.”

Jack laughed, pulled off a sock, and threw it at her, hitting her in the forehead. 

“Oh, Jack, that’s gross, you’ve been wearing this all day!” She pushed her chair back and pulled off one of her own stockings before marching over to the couch and sticking her bare foot right in his face.

“Agh!” Jack yelped, trying to both push her foot away and twist his head in order to escape the smell of stinky feet. “You gotta get some new boots or somethin’, Ace, that is worse than Elmer's mornin' breath!”

“Turnabout is fair play,” she said smugly, hoisting up his legs so that she could sit down on the couch. She took his one bare foot and waggled it from side to side. “Do you know what a best man is, Jack?”

“It’s not me?” He ventured, folding his arms behind his head and laying his legs across her lap.

“No,” she said. “Not in this wedding, anyway. Basically, the bride and groom each have some friends come help them on their wedding day. The bride asks some of her female friends, and they wear pretty dresses, walk down the aisle before she does, make sure she doesn’t trip on the train of her dress, hold her bouquet during the ceremony, and so on. It’s a real honor to be asked, because people pick the people they trust most in the world and plan on being friends with forever.”

“So that’s what your sisters are doing?” 

“Mhmm. Since Edith’s older, I’ve asked her to be the maid of honor, which means she’s in charge. Connie will be my bridesmaid.”

“Okay, and where does the best man fit in?” 

“That’s the male equivalent of the maid of honor. So since I have two bridesmaids, you’ll need two groomsmen. For symmetry and all that.” She looked over at him and pursed her lips, thinking the passel of newsies at the lodging house. “Well. You can have more if you want to; it’s not as if symmetry is all that important." She paused again. "And if you want to ask a girl, then she can either be a bridesmaid or we can have her stand on your side of the altar and have her be a… groomsmaid?” She scratched her head and then shrugged. “I don’t know what you’d call that, and I’ve never seen it done, but I don’t see why we couldn’t. At any rate, one of the people you ask will be the best man—that’s the person in charge, and the person you’re closest to. The other –or others– will be your groomsmen. Groomspeople. Whatever.”

Jack frowned. “What do they _do_ , though?”

“Well, they’ll help you get ready—they’ll dress up in suits, too, and I guess they distract you if you get nervous. Groomsmen don’t have as much to do as bridesmaids, I suppose, but it’s also a nice symbolic thing. They’re promising to be people you can talk to when you need help or advice or if you just need to get some outside perspective on your marriage— _our_ marriage.”

“Huh. Okay.” Jack sat for a minute, processing. “I never went to a wedding after my da died, so I guess all I know is what I got from the papers and listening to the other boys if they went to one.” He thought for a minute more, idly running a finger down the spine of his bird guide. “But that didn’t happen often, an’ when it did they mostly came back talking about the drinking.”

“That stands to reason,” Katherine said, massaging Jack’s bare foot. “I never really thought about what you wouldn’t know about weddings… I guess I should talk you through it, then? There are all sorts of traditions for before and during and after, and I don’t want you to be blindsided. We don’t have to do all of the things people usually do, though; we can decide together on what we like and what we want to leave out.”

“Sounds good,” he said, rubbing at his nose. 

“You do need to pick groomsmen, though,” she added. “I think we’ll both be grateful to have friends there to help us through the day.”

“Absolutely,” Jack said fervently. “I’m gonna need someone around to make sure I don’t mess up.”

“You’ll be perfect, dear heart,” Katherine said, reaching out to hold his hand. “There’ll be a rehearsal the night before, anyway.”  

“Good grief,” Jack said. “Do I gotta get dressed up for that, too?’

“No,” Katherine said. “Though I can’t wait to see you in a suit, so I won’t stop you from dressing up if you decide you want to.” She fluttered her lashes coquettishly. “I’ve got a weakness for men in suits, you know.” 

“Hmm.” Jack gave her a considering look.

“Hmm indeed.”

Then, without warning, Jack sprang up from the couch, lifted Katherine into his arms, and carried her into the bedroom. She shrieked in surprise and then wrapped her arms around his neck. “Jack, what are you doing?”

“You’re the prettiest thing I ever saw, Ace,” he said, his voice husky and determined. “An’ I gotta kiss you. All over. Right now.” He looked her straight in the eyes as he laid her down on the bed and bent over her, his lean body just inches from her own, his breath coming fast and shallow, his desire for her so unmistakable that it brought a flush to her cheeks. She knew he was undressing her in his mind, imagining all of the hollows and curves and secrets that he’d get to explore in a few short months. She knew this because she was doing the same thing to him. Her breath hitched, and he licked his lips. “Right now, Ace, do you hear? I think I might die if I don’t.” 

“Do your worst,” she said, undoing the top button of her blouse for him. “I’m all yours.”

 

***

 

Jack locked the boarding room door behind him and tossed his keys on the bed. “Say, Crutchie, you ever hear of a best man?”

“Sure,” Crutchie said, looking up from the game of solitaire he was playing. “My pops was best man at my uncle’s weddin’ when I was a tyke. Took Uncle Tim out on the town the night before an’ didn’t come back until they was both sloshed. My ma weren’t happy about that, let me tell you!” He laughed. “They almost didn’t make it through the weddin’—the priest had ta get an altar boy ta bring a chair out so Uncle Tim didn’t fall over in the middle of the ceremony.”

“Geez, Crutchie, I’m sure your pops was great an’ all, but that sounds more like a worst man ta me,” Jack said, kicking his boots off against the wall. 

“Ma said the same thing,” Crutchie grinned. “It was mem’rable, though!” 

“Sounds it,” Jack said with a snort. “You aren’t gonna do that ta me, now are ya?”

“No, I—” Crutchie stopped and cocked his head. “Hang on a sec, is this you askin’ me ta be your best man?”

“Do I even gotta ask? Who else would it be?”

“Aw, shucks,” Crutchie said, taking off his cap and throwing it at Jack. “Stop bein’ so mushy, you big galoot.”

“Who’re you callin’ a big galoot?” Jack said, clapping a hand to his chest and sinking onto the bed, his eyes exaggeratedly wide. “I dunno if I’ll ever recover from such a stingin’ insult! You’s wounded me mortal-like, Crutchie, call a priest for the last rites!” 

“Shaddap,” Crutchie said, rolling his eyes. “If insults actually hurt you, you’da been dead the first time you an’ Race did more’n say hello to each other.”

“Well maybe I’m a ghost, didja ever think of that?” Jack said, flopping back onto his pillows and fishing around in his satchel for his sketchbook and _The Color Key to North American Birds_.

“Then you’s already dead an’ my insults won’t matter,” Crutchie said with a smug smile.

“Fine, you win,” Jack said, pulling his colored pencils out from under his bed and flipping back to the page with the juncos. “You okay with bein’ the best man for a ghost?”

“I’d be honored,” Crutchie said. “An’ I won’t even try to get you drunk the night before.”

“Thanks,” said Jack. “I think you’re gonna ace this best man thing.”

“Yup,” said Crutchie, flipping over a card and frowning at it. “Hey, Jack, if you cheat in solitaire, is it actually cheatin’? I mean, I’m the only one playin’, so I gets ta make the rules, right?”

“It’s only cheatin’ if ya gets caught,” Jack said, rummaging around in his bag for his pocketknife, which he used to sharpen his pencils. “So ‘s long as ya don’t tell yourself you’s cheatin’, I’d say you’re all hunky-dory.”

“Good,” Crutchie said, shuffling the cards around. He got back to playing and Jack pulled out a set of India inks. “Say, Jack?”

“Yeah?” 

“Thanks for askin’ me ta be your best man. I… It really means a lot ta me.”

“ ‘Course. There ain’t nobody else I’d even consider,” Jack said with a nod, which Crutchie solemnly returned. The moment hung for the space of a breath, and then two, and then Jack’s eyes took on a wicked gleam. He picked Crutchie’s cap up off of the floor and flung it right into the other boy’s chest. “Hey now, no more bein’ mushy, ya hear? Only so much mush a ghost can handle in one night.” His stomach growled. “…Unless it’s the kind of mush you can eat. You hungry?”

“Aye aye, Cap’n Jack,” Crutchie said with a grin. “Jacobi’s?”

“Jacobi’s.”

 

***

 

Jack hopped off the streetcar near Columbia University before it came to a full stop.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing, Jack? Do you wanna get run over?”

“Heya, Davey,” Jack said, giving his friend a short salute. “Thanks for taking the time ta meet up, I know you’re busy.”

Davey waved him off. “I can’t study all the time,” he said. “Nor do I want to. Some of my classes this semester are as dull as dirt, let me tell you. Gotta make sure I’m well rested for ‘em, otherwise I’d fall asleep.”

“That bad, huh?” Jack said, adjusting his cap. 

“Yeah, so there’s this one professor I’ve got…” Davey chatted happily about his classes and university life as he led Jack across the manicured grounds and through the stately halls of Columbia. Jack didn’t quite understand all that Davey was talking about with eminent domain and workers’ compensation laws and balance of power theory, but he was happy to listen, even if his attention did wander a bit whenever they walked by a particularly beautiful building. He was all ears when Davey started in on the yellow dog contracts that were being used to bully employees out of joining unions, though, and he just about jumped out of his seat when Davey mentioned how the New York Child Labor Committee was going to hold a conference with the Alabama Child Labor Committee at Carnegie Hall in April, and he was going, and would Jack like to join him?

That topic lasted them all the way through lunch, and it wasn’t until Davey said, “Well, I need to scoot to my next class, it’s on the other side of campus,” that Jack remembered why he’d come in the first place.

“Say, kid, afore you go—uh, I got a question for you.”

“Sure, Jackie. Shoot.”

“How do you, uh… how do you feel about churches?”

Davey raised one eyebrow and peered down at Jack like a slightly startled owl. “Um, I'm not sure I follow. Do you mean ethically? Architecturally? Constitutionally?” Jack blinked. “I can’t say that it’s something I’ve really ever thought about,” Davey said. “Sorry.” 

“No, I mean, like… can you go in a church? Are you okay with that?”

Davey snickered. “Oh my gosh, Jack, do you think I’m gonna burst into flames at the sight of a crucifix?” 

“No!” Jack kicked a table leg in frustration. “Land’s sakes, Dave, stop makin’ this so hard! I don’t know nothin’ about this stuff, I’m tryin’ ta be respectful here!”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Davey said, making a great effort to pull his face back into a neutral expression.

Jack shot him a dirty look. “Well?” 

“I’m fine with churches, Jack. I don’t worship there, but I respect the fact that other people do.”

“So you don’t mind bein’ in a church.”

“No.”

“What about listenin’ to—bein’ in—a Christian service?”

“ _Oy gevalt_ , Jack, just spit it out already!”

“Fine!” Jack rubbed at his nose and then crossed his arms. He glared at Davey for another few seconds before finally bursting out with, “Wouldja be my groomsman? Crutchie’s my best man, but I want you ta be part of the weddin’, too, an’ Kath said there’s this thing called groomsmen, she explained it all ta me, an’ it don’t sound like ya gotta do that much so it shouldn’t take hardly any time away from your studies, an’ I really want ya there on account of you bein’ one of the best friends I ever had, but I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable or ask ya ta do something ya don’t wanna do an’—”

“ _Jack_.” Davey laid a hand firmly on Jack’s shoulder and stifled a smile. “It’s okay. I’d love to. I’m really touched.”

“Aw, shove off,” Jack said, shifting his shoulder away from Davey but clearly extremely pleased.

“Thanks for asking me, Jack. I’d be honored to be a part of your wedding.”

“Yeah, well.” Jack huffed, rolling his shoulders and noisily smacking a piece of gum he’d managed to find somewhere deep in his cluttered pockets. “It’d be my honor ta have ya.”

Davey grinned. “Don’t I know it, Jackie Boy.”

Jack punched Davey in the arm and bit his lips to hide an answering smile. He was still feeling a little off-kilter, so he wasn’t ready to shed the tough guy act yet, but his eyes were sparkling and his voice had softened. “You get on to class now, kiddo—don’t want ya missin’ out on a minute of your education.”

Davey punched Jack back, gave him a farewell nod, and, still smiling, headed off to class.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here’s ](https://www.biodiversitylibrary.org/item/116744#page/1/mode/1up) the bird book Jack’s looking at. It was published in 1903. 
> 
> So I was at the airport in San Francisco a while back, and they had a little typewriter exhibit on display, and apparently THERE WAS A CORONA TYPEWRITER COMPANY IN THE EARLY 1900s. Not kidding. I was so excited, I had to take photographs of the whole thing. Period-appropriate miracle find! There were other American typewriter companies around then, too, but of course I’m giving Katherine a Corona. I’ve been waiting to slip that little detail in somewhere for like… five weeks now? (Also [they are for sale on ebay](http://www.ebay.com/bhp/corona-3-typewriter) if you want one of your very own ;) )
> 
> Red-backed juncos breed in the mountains of New Mexico and central Arizona.
> 
> ‘Tyke’ as a non-pejorative word for kid dates to 1902. 
> 
> Workers’ compensation laws had already existed for a while at various levels of government, but Maryland was the first state to implement a statewide law. This occurred in 1902. Other states gradually adopted the practice, as well.
> 
> The American Federation of Labor (AFL) had swelled to 1.6 million members by 1904. That same year, employers started pushing back against the workers’ rights movement by forcing employees to sign “yellow dog contracts” that prohibited them from joining a union as well as concertedly dividing employees by ethnicity and hiring strikebreakers when necessary. 
> 
> The National Child Labor Committee was formed in April of 1904 as a result of the conference between the Alabama Child Labor Committee (which formed in 1901) and the New York Child Labor Committee (which formed in 1902). It began by advocating for child labor reform at the state level.
> 
> Thank you so very much to Rachel for supplying Davey’s exasperated Yiddish and for reassuring me that he’d be fine with serving as a groomsman! 'Oy gevalt' is like a 'good grief' kind of phrase. Think 'oy vey' but with violence instead of pain (that is a language joke that is probably funny only to me because jokes shouldn't need to be explained in order to be funny but WHATEVER I'M LEAVING IT).
> 
> Also, if you’re one of the many people who’s said they’ve enjoyed learning about the history of NYC in this time period, I stumbled across this new book this week: [Over six pounds of turn-of-the-century NYC history!](http://www.npr.org/2017/10/04/553975542/greater-gotham-is-a-great-big-book-for-a-great-big-city?utm_source=facebook.com&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=npr&utm_term=nprnews&utm_content=202704)
> 
> ***
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it! As always, I really appreciate your taking the time to read / kudo / comment-- it means an awful lot to me.


	7. April 1904: Three Months to the Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack wins a poker game and Katherine makes a mess.

“Hey Jack, what’s this about David being your groomsman?” Les asked, using his fingers to fish around for the kreplach in his chicken soup.

“Ain’t much ta say other’n that, kiddo,” Jack said, scanning the hand of cards that Race had just laid down on the table. He gave a whoop and slapped his own cards over Race’s with a thwack. “Take _that_ , Race! I win! I beat ya!” He drummed his hands on the table and wiggled his shoulders. “Hey, Specs, I beat Race!”

“So I hear,” Specs said, barely lifting his head up from the book he was reading in the far corner of the room.

“Dumb luck, Kelly,” Race grumbled, pulling all of the playing cards into a pile to stack and reshuffle them. “Ya shouldn’ta won that hand; I played it better’n you.”

“You’s just a sore loser,” Jack said gleefully, springing up from the floor and thumbing his nose at Race. “Ya can’t stand that I’m a whiz at poker an’ you ain’t.”

“Actually, Race is right,” Crutchie said, trying not to laugh. “The odds of you winnin’ that hand were about twelve ta one, mostly on account of how ya made a coupla real dumb moves earlier on.” 

“Pshhhh,” Jack said, dismissing Crutchie’s words with a grand wave of his hand. “You boys ain’t gonna rain on my parade. Race owes me a favor now, an’ you better believe I am gonna use that to full advantage.”

“Ughhhh,” Race groaned, flopping his arms and his head onto the fruit crate the newsies used as a makeshift card table. “This is the worst day of my life.”

Jack cackled and did a shimmy of a victory dance that caused Crutchie to lose his composure completely and start laughing, too.

“Jack!” Les said again. “Groomsman?”

“Huh?” Jack stopped dancing and lowered his arms. “Oh, yeah. Crutchie’s the best man, an’ Davey’s the groomsman.”

“Ooh, so he’s gonna dance for ya! That’s great, he’s a real good dancer.”

Jack blinked. “Katherine didn’t say nothin’ about groomsmen havin’ ta dance fer the groom,” he said, his eyes flicking involuntarily to Crutchie.

“That’s ‘cause they don’t,” Finch said, sauntering into the room, snapping the band of his slingshot. “Whatcha on about, Les?”

“No, they do!” Les insisted. “I’ve been to lots of weddings—Cousin Jakob, Cousin Herschel, Cousin Rivka—and the groomsmen danced for the bride an’ groom at ev’ry single one of ‘em!”

“Naw, Les, groomsmen dance like ev’ryone else—with the girls or in a group or whatever once the music starts.” Finch sat on the floor and crossed his legs. “Or they don’t dance. ‘S whatever they want. But they don’t dance _for_ the bride an’ groom.”

“How many weddings have you been to, Finch?” Les shot back. “Is it more than ten? ‘Cause I’ve been to at least ten.” He looked over across the hall to Davey, who was attempting to do his homework in the lodging house kitchen. “C’mon, David! Back me up here.”

Davey did his best to pretend he hadn’t heard his brother, but he gave himself away by blushing furiously.

“Daaaaaaavid,” Les called. “Don’t be such a _lemeshkeh_ —I know you can hear me!”

Davey looked up to shoot Les a death glare and snapped, “ _Drai mir nit kain kop!_ ”

“Seems like _someone_ is hoping to get out of this dance,” Les said tauntingly. “I swear it’s real, fellas—otherwise why would he be blushin’ up to his ears like that?”

Davey slammed his textbook shut. “ _Farmach dos moyl, Leyzl!_ ”

“Oh my gosh, it _is_ real,” Race said, lifting his head off of the wooden crate for the first time since he’d lost the poker hand to Jack. A wicked smile spread across his face. “Hey, boys!” He yelled, springing to his feet so as to holler up the stairwell, “Davey’s gotta dance for Jack at the weddin’!”

“No, I don’t!” Davey yelled.

“You do! You do!” Race laughed and ran into the kitchen to shake Davey by the shoulders. “I can’t wait ta see this, it’s gonna be more fun than a barrel o’ monkeys, oh man…” he collapsed into a giggle fit that left him clutching his stomach and gasping.

“It’s something they do at _Jewish_ weddings, Race, and this isn’t a Jewish wedding!” Davey said, smacking Race’s arm. “I’m not dancing at this wedding unless I _want_ to.”

“ ‘Course you ain’t, Dave,” Jack said, coming to his friend’s rescue. “In fact, Racer’s gonna be dancin’ fer me instead of you.”

Race’s laughter died in his throat. “…What? No, Jackie, that ain’t how this works. I’m comin’ ta your weddin’ ta cheer an’ drink an’ dance with the pretty girls!”

“You owes me a favor, don’t ya, Racer?” Jack said innocently.

“Yeah,” Race said, eyeing Jack warily.

“Well, if ya keeps needlin’ Davey, I might just hafta make that favor be that you dance for me an’ Kath’rine all by your lonesome insteada Dave.” Jack slipped his hands into his pockets and leaned against the kitchen doorframe. “I don’t wanna, mind you, but I’m gonna need Davey ta be runnin’ interference with Ace’s parents and siblin’s all night. I can’t spare him for a dance. So if ya thinks this dance needs ta happen, you’s gonna be the one ta do it.”

“Fine,” Race grumbled. “No dance, then.”

“Only if you’s sure, Race,” said Jack. “I don’t wanna rob ya of your moment in the sun.”

“I’m sure,” Race sulked. “Sure as I am that you shoulda lost that hand…”

Jack flashed him a cocky grin. “But I didn’t.”

Race deflated, his face sullen as he sat down at the bench behind the kitchen table. He sighed and began flicking crumbs from last night’s dinner off of the wooden tabletop.

Jack waited until he was sure any talk of a dance had been squelched, and then he strolled over to slap a hand on Race’s back. “Rematch?”

Race raised his head hopefully. “Yeah!”

 

***

 

Les kept up a fairly constant stream of chatter as he, Davey, and Jack walked back to the Jacobs’ tiny tenement apartment. Although he’d hit a growth spurt recently and was now nearly as tall as Jack, he was still just as in awe of his hero as he had been the first day they’d met, and he was not about to waste this opportunity to get Jack’s approval and opinion on everything from bow-ties to flirting techniques. The two older boys were happy to let Les prattle on, marveling at his ability to flit from one topic to the next without even pausing for breath. While they cared about what Les was saying, on some level they were simply mesmerized by his willingness to talk about anything and everything. Les’ carefree gregariousness was a sharp contrast to the way both Davey and Jack had been at age fourteen, although Davey had been quiet simply because that’s the way he was, whereas Jack had been quiet because by that point he’d learned that talking about real things only got you hurt.

Once they’d dropped Les off and given Davey a minute to catch up with his parents and older sister, the two boys exchanged looks and silently agreed that they needed a few minutes of quiet. The city around them was anything but quiet, of course, but those sounds didn’t count. The wailing sirens, the domestic arguments, the raucous tavern songs, the rattle of the elevated train rumbling by—these noises were as much a part of Jack and Davey’s landscape as the blue sky above and the filthy streets below. If by some miracle the city had ever actually gone quiet, the boys might not have been able to pinpoint what had changed, but they would have felt oddly exposed and vulnerable. The city’s constant hum was their auditory comfort blanket, and, despite being enveloped by the din of the Lower East Side, they felt as if the whoosh of their breath and the rush of their blood were the only sounds in the world.  

Davey broke the companionable silence first. “Thanks for jumping in earlier.”

“Hmm?” Jack stopped picking at a scab on his arm and turned his head to Davey. “Oh, that. Yeah, of course. Race is hard ta shut up sometimes.”

“So is Les,” Davey said solemnly. Their eyes met, and the weariness and incredulity they read in each other’s faces caused them both to burst into laughter.

“That kid’s a real firecracker,” Jack said, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.

“He gives my parents a run for their money, that’s for sure,” Davey said, shaking his head.

Jack rolled his shoulders and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Say, Davey, while I got ya, I… I got somethin’ I wanna get your thoughts on.” He brushed at his nose. “I, uh… yeah.”

“Sure thing,” Davey said amiably, and waited for Jack to continue. Jack, however, had found a rock on the sidewalk, and he was suddenly extremely focused on kicking it ever farther down the street. Every move Jack made was calculated to show that kicking this rock was really quite important, didn’t Davey know that Jack was training to be a world champion in rock-kicking, couldn’t Davey see how much attention this required, of course Jack couldn’t be expected to continue the conversation when there were rocks to be kicked and rock-kicking championships to win….

Davey allowed himself to give Jack an exasperated glare, since he knew Jack wouldn’t see it anyway, and then he went through the usual routine required to get Jack to open up. “How long have you been kicking that thing? A block?”

“Block an’ a half.”

“Gonna let me have a go?”

Jack shot Davey a wary look and kicked the rock a little ahead and to the left. Davey fielded it on his next stride and kicked it ahead and to the right, passing it back to Jack. They continued like this for a little while, until finally Davey judged it was safe enough to say, “So, do you want my thoughts on something in particular, or you just want my thoughts in general? I’ve got a lot of thoughts, you know.”

“Somethin’ in particular,” Jack said, still kicking the rock and glaring at the sidewalk.

“Somethin’ to do with the wedding?” Davey kicked the rock a little too far to the right on his next turn, causing Jack to follow it off into the gutter, where he continued kicking it by himself.

“Yeah. No.” Jack shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Well, I’d say you’ve got your bases covered with that answer.”

Jack gave an irritated huff. “It ain’t so much about gettin’ married as _bein’_ married, if ya gots ta know,” he said. His voice was sulky, but Davey knew that was an act. He also knew that, much as he wanted to respond by reminding Jack that no, he didn’t ‘gots ta know,’ and hey, Jack, you’re the one who brought this up in the first place, the right move was to play along and keep things low-stakes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I—” Jack kicked the rock with a little too much force, and it skittered off into the darkness. He cursed under his breath and stepped back onto the sidewalk, his shoulders hunched and his jaw clenched. “I just—” He growled at himself and then swung to face Davey, his eyes desperate. “Am I doin’ the right thing, Dave? Marryin’ Kath’rine?”

Davey’s eyebrows flew up. “Do you not love her anymore?”

“ _What?_ ” Jack’s mouth fell open. “How could you even—I—” He spluttered ineffectually for a bit, then finally settled on, “Of _course_ I still loves her! That’s why I needs ta know if I’m doin’ the right thing by marryin’ her!”

Davey narrowed his eyes in confusion. “But you… wait. Okay.” He frowned. “So… you think that you shouldn’t marry her _because_ you love her?”

Jack threw up his hands. “No! No, that ain’t it at all, I just--” He groaned and clapped his hands on top of his newsboy cap, pressing down so hard that the rim of the cap dug into his forehead. “I loves her _so damn much_ , Davey. I loves her so much it scares me; I loves her so much it _hurts_. My stomach clenches up an’ my breathin’ goes all funny if I daydreams about her too long. She makes me _ache_ , Davey. She gives me _chills_.” He gave a little whine and closed his eyes, dragging his teeth across his bottom lip. “Sometimes when I sees her in front of me I can’t even _think_ , I just… all the thoughts I have, they flies right outta my head, an’ all there is is Kath’rine, an’…” He swallowed, hard, trying to chase away the lump in his throat. “I knows I love her, Davey, that’s certain an’ sure, but that’s… that’s about all I knows right now.” His voice caught halfway in a sob, which he tried to cover up with a cough.

“So,” he said, once he’d recovered himself somewhat. “That’s why I needs ya ta tell me if I’m doin’ the right thing by marryin’ her.” He rubbed at his nose and continued in a matter-of-fact voice, ticking points off on his fingers. “I don’t know nothin’ about bein’ a husband. I don’t know nothin’ about bein’ married. My ma an’ da were gone ‘fore I even had a chance ta know what a marriage was, so I ain’t never had the chance ta see what the heck it is I’m s’posed ta do here.” He shook his head. “I got no damn clue, Davey. Shoot, the devil knows more about bein’ good than I knows about bein’ a husband!” He laughed bitterly. “An’ that… that ain’t fair ta Ace.” He rolled his shoulders. “An’ then I gots ta think about how even though I’s makin’ good money now, I ain’t never gonna be rich like ol’ Joe. I can’t afford ta give her the life she’s used to, an’ I damn well can’t afford ta give her the life she deserves.” He laid a hand across his stomach as if reassuring himself that he was still there and pressed inwards until his knuckles ached. “So I needs ya ta be honest with me, Davey. Is marryin’ her the right thing ta do, or am I just bein’ a selfish bastard what needs ta grow up?”

Davey let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, the long whoosh of air buying him a few seconds to think. “Okay, Jack. Okay.” He looked his friend in the eyes and clapped him on the shoulder. “Honestly? I’m not the person you need to ask—Kath is. And you know that.”

Jack hung his head and kicked at the pavement. “Yeah, I do.”

“But,” Davey added, “I will say this—Kath _picked you_. I’m sure there’s no shortage of men her parents would’ve loved to set her up with, but who’s she been talking to and kissing and stepping out with for nearly five years now? _You_.”

Jack made a pathetic noise.

Davey responded by punching him lightly in the arm. “And she’s no dummy—I’m sure she’s thought all of this through –probably months before you did, even– and she wouldn’t have said yes to you unless she meant it. So take a deep breath and go talk it out with her, alright?”

“Alright,” Jack mumbled, staring at the pavement, his lower lip jutting out as if he were a child who’d just been denied an ice cream.

Davey looked at Jack with sympathy and just a little bit of jealousy. He could see that this was eating Jack alive, but at the same time, he ached with the sorrow and certainty of knowing he’d never find anyone to love as much as Jack loved Katherine. That devotion, that desperation, that heart-rending commitment to putting his partner’s happiness above his own—Davey _wanted_ that, he wanted it so much that sometimes he could scream with the frustration of it, but he just couldn’t see it happening. Jack had had Katherine for five years, and what had Davey had? Nothing. No one.

He’d admired girls from afar, sure, and he’d had his fair share of embarrassing –and sometimes embarrassingly lustful– crushes, too, but he’d yet to fall hard in any meaningful, enduring way. Which isn’t to say that he didn’t want to. He wanted to, _oh_ how he wanted to—in fact, there weren’t enough words in the world to explain how much he wanted a woman to care for and laugh with and cheer on, a woman who would look at him the way Kath looked at Jack, someone smart and sweet and serious who would hold his hand and balance him out and challenge him to see the world in a completely new way… and someday, maybe, someday she’d agree to hold his heart and wear his ring and… and share his bed. He blushed. _Don’t go there, David. It’s not going to happen. Stop wanting what you can’t have._ He wasn’t even very good at talking to women, at least not like that, and as for finding a girl who’d spend enough time with him to fall in love with him? With _him_? As if. He kicked himself internally. _Knock it off, David. Stop being such a sad sack. This isn’t about you; this is about Jack._

Davey shoved aside his jealousy and squared his shoulders. “Look here, Jack. I know a thing or two about marriage. My parents have been married for twenty-one years now, I’ve watched three or four handfuls of my cousins through their courtships and weddings and lives together, and you know how serious Sarah is getting with Avram. So you can believe me when I say that you and Kath are as good a match as any I’ve ever seen. Alright?” He raised one eyebrow and stared at Jack until Jack relented and muttered his agreement. “Okay, then.” Davey gave a short nod and rubbed at the back of his neck. “So. I don’t think you need to worry about whether marrying Kath is the right thing to do, but I do think you need to be straight with her about your concerns. The only way this marriage wouldn’t be fair to her is if you married her without sharing your fears first. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jack said, finally lifting his head. “Thanks, Davey.”

“Of course. That’s what friends are for.”

Jack straightened up and hid his emotion by popping Davey in the chest. “Go catch your streetcar, slugger.”

Davey grinned. “Go get your beauty sleep, _dumkop_.”

“Aw, shaddap,” said Jack, holding back a laugh that escaped as a snort. “See ya later, kiddo. Study hard.”

“I always do,” Davey said, crossing the street to the trolley stop.

“I know,” Jack said, too quietly for Davey to hear. “I know.” He shook his head. “You’s a gem, Davey Jacobs. A real gem.”

 

***

 

Jack bounced nervously on his toes and took a few quick breaths before knocking on the door to Katherine’s apartment. He ran his tongue across his too-dry lips and pushed the door inwards.

“Ace? Ya here?”

“In the kitchen,” she called, followed by the sound of falling crockery and then an agitated, “Shoot shoot _shoot!_ ”

Jack bounded into the kitchen to see Katherine standing by the counter, eyes squeezed shut and mouth drawn into a tiny line of frustration, surrounded by shards of glass and spilled pasta. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, “Yeah, I just hate cooking.” She opened her eyes and glared at him. “I _hate_ it, Jack. Have I ever told you how much I hate it?”

“Once or twice,” he said, biting back a smile. All of the newsies knew how Katherine felt about cooking. It was a given at this point, a simple fact of life; Finch hated waiting, Crutchie hated pity, Buttons hated fleas, and Katherine? Katherine hated cooking.

“Oh, go on, laugh,” she said, rolling her eyes and leaning her head back to stare at the ceiling. “I know you want to—your eyes have gone all crinkly.” She grinned upwards and sighed. “It _is_ pretty funny, isn’t it? For once in my life I manage to cook a meal without setting anything on fire or blackening any pots, and then it’s the dishes that do me in.” She started to giggle, her whole body quivering, one hand braced on the counter and the other cupped over her mouth. Jack tried awfully hard to hold himself together, but it wasn’t long before he, too, was giggling uncontrollably at the sight of his fiancée, barefoot in the kitchen, splattered in tomato sauce and quaking with mirth. Their laughter devolved into hysterical gasps and snorts after Jack picked a piece of fusilli off the floor and threw it at Katherine, where it stuck to her hair and bounced around with her laughter.

“Jack, stop it,” Katherine gasped, still laughing. “Oh, my stomach—I can’t breathe—”

“It hurts,” Jack groaned in agreement, sliding down the wall and clutching his sides, trying his best to regain his composure. He closed his eyes and took a few shuddering breaths, which Katherine mimicked, and for a few seconds the only sound in the kitchen was that of their jerky breathing. They’d nearly recovered themselves when Jack made the mistake of murmuring, “Oh gosh, oh my gosh, that noodle…” They caught each other’s eyes, Katherine’s lips wobbled, Jack’s dimple reappeared, and they both doubled over in a fresh fit of giggles.

“Stop, Jack! Oh no, oh it hurts…” Katherine sank onto the floor and slapped her hands on the tile. “Aaaa!” She yelped and yanked her left hand into her lap. Hissing in pain, she flipped her palm up and grimaced to see shards of glass embedded like scattershot in her hand. “That was really dumb,” she said through gritted teeth.

Jack immediately stopped laughing and stood up, taking a step forward.

“No!” She yelped. “You’ll get cut, too!”

“I got my boots on, love,” he said calmly, walking towards her. He squatted down and scooped her up into his arms, kissing her softly on the cheek. “Let’s get that hand taken care of.” She leaned her head onto his shoulder and sighed, her breath tickling his neck. He adjusted her weight in his arms and carried her into the bathroom, setting her down on the edge of the tub. “Hang on,” he said, turning to rummage through the box of toiletries and odds and ends she kept under the sink. He frowned. “Be right back.”

She watched him walk away, his tread steady and sure, the scent of newsprint and cloves lingering after he’d gone. Glaring at her hand, Katherine stood and sifted through the detritus on her washstand, looking for her tweezers. “There we go.” She sat back on the edge of the tub and started fishing out the little slivers of glass, dropping each tiny shard into the trashcan by the sink. It was a painstaking process, and she sucked in a short little breath every time she had to dig around to pull out a new piece.

“Let me do that,” Jack said, framed in the doorway, his eyes kind and his voice low. He set a bottle of vodka and a clean handkerchief down on the floor and knelt in front of her. Then he took the tweezers from her and began plucking the glass from her hand, singing a nursery rhyme to her as he did so. “One, two, buckle my shoe…”

She watched as he probed the flesh of her palm, knowing that he was singing to distract her and loving him for it. His voice was clear and comforting, and she closed her eyes to focus on the shape and sound of each note instead of the pricks of pain that had her clutching at and balling up her skirt.

“…seventeen, eighteen, maids in waiting,” he sang, pulling out the last piece of glass and gently stroking her bloodied hand with his. “I have to clean it out now, darlin’,” he said. “This’ll hurt a bit, alright?”

She nodded, her eyes still closed. She heard the slosh of vodka as he tipped the bottle onto a washrag, the overpowering bite of alcohol masking the warm, familiar smell of Jack’s breath and sweat. She twitched as he dabbed the washcloth on her palm, gently but thoroughly disinfecting all her little cuts. Once that was done, he draped the rag on the side of the tub and kissed her knees; she’d unthinkingly hiked her skirt up as she sat, and having her bare knees in front of him, right there at eye level—well, it was too much for him to resist. “I love you,” she breathed, her eyes fluttering open. She stretched out her good hand to take off his cap and run her fingers through his soft brown hair.

He kept still in order to let her play with his hair, and although his head remained angled down over her knees, she could see enough of his face to know that his cheeks had curved into a smile. “Just gotta bandage you up now, macushla.”

“Okay.”

He reached for the clean handkerchief and wrapped it tightly around her injured hand, knotting it securely by her wrist. She made to pull her hand back and rise from the tub, but he hadn’t released her yet. Even through the handkerchief, she could feel his fingers playing across her palm, tentative and questioning. She waited.

“I don’t know how to do this, you know,” he said suddenly, staring at her bandaged hand.

She knit her brows. “What do you mean, you don’t know how to do this? You did it perfectly.”

He shook his head, still refusing to meet her eyes. “I don’t know how to be a husband,” he said. “I ain’t—I don’t have the foggiest notion of what ta do once we get married, Ace. I’ve seen people step out together, of course—I’ve watched that plenty. But I ain’t never watched people just… just livin’ life as a married couple, ya know? An’ I ain’t never had anyone show me what it means ta be a husband, neither. So once we’s married I’m gonna try real hard ta do a good job, but I’m gonna let you down, an’ I’m gonna do it again an’ again’ an’ again, an’ I’m scared I’m gonna keep right on doin’ it until ya starts wishin’ ya’d married one of them robber barons’ boys.” Katherine raised an eyebrow, but Jack didn’t see. “They may be borin’, but they all knows what a marriage is an’ what a husband does. An’ I betcha one of ‘em knows how ta be the man you need, too. The man you deserve.” He was still stroking her palm, his fingers tracing the folds and knots in the handkerchief.

“Jack,” she said, placing her right hand under his chin and tipping his head up so that he had to meet her eyes. “You sure as hell aren’t the man I deserve, because you’re better than anything I could possibly merit, but you are the man I need. There’s no knowing or not knowing about it—you simply _are_ , and that’s all there is to it.” She nearly melted at the worry and hope warring behind his eyes and moved to cradle the side of his face.

“And as for knowing how to be a husband and how to be married—I understand what you’re saying, but I think it could end up being a very good thing that you haven’t had anyone to watch, because I don’t want someone else’s marriage or someone else’s husband. I want us to make our own marriage. Together.” She smiled at him, shaking her head in disbelief at how sweet and smart and _good_ he was.

“Let me be clear: I want _you_ , Jack, just the way you are now. All of the little things you do for me—walking me home at night, making me sandwiches when I’m on deadline, laughing when I splatter pasta all over the kitchen—those are the things that I want my husband to do, too. So you see, Jack, you _do_ know how to do this. Well, at least as much as anyone can know about marriage without having been married.” She fidgeted on the rim of the tub. “And I’d say you know at least as much about being a husband as I know about being a wife.” She gave a nervous laugh, unused to applying that word to herself. Wife. In three months she’d be Jack’s _wife_.

She curled her injured hand around his restless fingers and squeezed them briefly. “I don’t know what I’m doing, either, dear heart,” she said. “But I’d much rather the two of us figure out our own way of being husband and wife than have you trying to be your father and me trying to be my mother and both of us ending up frustrated and sad.”

He smiled shyly and reached to tuck a stray curl back behind her ear. “Are you sure, love? You can still say no.”

“I’m not going to say no unless you do,” she said firmly. “I’m going to make a royal mess of this, too, Jack Kelly, and I’m counting on you to tell me when I go wrong and to forgive me when I muff it over and over again.”

“As long as you do the same for me,” he said, straightening up and leaning in to kiss her chastely on the forehead.

“For sure,” she said, using her good hand to caress his cheek and guide him down to her mouth. Slowly, intimately, she teased his mouth open with her tongue, trembling with pleasure at the softness of his lips and the stubble on his jaw. She felt her eyelashes catch against his skin, and she smiled lazily into the kiss as he slid his hand up her thigh. She responded by kissing him harder, moving from something sweet and unhurried into something fierce and true, taking all of her love and need and uncertainty and channeling it into the points of contact between them. Her hands slid lower as his slid higher, and Katherine was finding it increasingly difficult to resist the urge to throw her head back and moan. She slipped off the edge of the tub instead, falling onto Jack and accidentally pushing him backwards so that he found himself lying flat on the floor of the bathroom with Katherine pressed on top of him. Her brown eyes were dilated and desperate, and his hands were so high up her skirt that she wasn’t sure why she was even wearing the damn thing anymore.

She swallowed hard at the desire written on his face, and he growled, a feral sound that caused her hips to buck involuntarily. “We can’t,” she whispered, startled at her body’s need for him. “Not yet.”

“No,” he agreed, his hands still exploring places she knew they oughtn’t to be. “Not yet.” He lifted his head and used his teeth to capture her lower lip, gently pulling her further down until every bit of her was flush against him. They fit like they’d been made for each other, and Katherine gave in briefly to her lust, kissing him with an intensity that surprised them both. “Damn,” he rasped, his words vibrating against her lips.

She whimpered and melted all at once. But the sensible part of her was yelling at her to step away from the edge, and she knew it was up to her to make them do it; she could tell from the fog in Jack’s hazel eyes that he was too far gone to be of any help. “We can’t,” she said again, reluctantly pulling his hands away and placing them firmly on the floor. He whined and tried to slide his hands back up, back where he wanted them—back where he knew she wanted them, too—but Katherine, breathing hard, stood up and moved so that she was standing next to the sink rather than straddling him.

“Come back, Ace,” he pleaded, panting, his hands curling and uncurling against the floor. “I want you. I _need_ you.” He tried to track her with his eyes as she moved to the doorway, but everything had gone thick and hazy. “Please, Ace,” he begged, eyes drooping shut, voice slurred, hands still working against the floor. “ _Please_.”

The plaintiveness in his voice almost broke her resolve, but she bit her lip and shook her head. “Not yet.”

He groaned and shuddered on the cool ceramic tile. “I know,” Jack whispered, drawing his arms up to cover his face and clenching his hair in his fists. “I know. Not yet.” His breaths were shallow, each inhalation a ragged wheeze.

Katherine leaned against the doorframe, her hair and clothing in wild disarray. She dragged her arm across her swollen mouth and clapped her hands over her eyes. “Dammit, Jack.”

“Dammit yourself,” he mumbled, curling himself sideways and facing away from her, still quivering.

She tested her bruised lips with her fingers. “Dammit, Jack,” she said again. “You’re going to make one hell of a husband.”

He choked out a shaky laugh. “For sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Rachel for the idea about having Davey dance!
> 
> The Yiddish in this chapter:  
>  _Lemeshkeh_ \- Milquetoast, bungler  
>  _Drai mir nit kain kop!_ \- Don't bother me! (Literally means don't twist my head)  
>  _Farmach dos moyl! _– Shut up! (Literally shut your mouth)__  
>  _Leyzl_ —Yiddish diminutive for the legal Hebrew name Elazar. Davey is using this to refer to Les. So in my story, Davey’s parents are Polish Jewish immigrants. This means they’d have very likely given their children official Hebrew names for legal documents and such, a Yiddish equivalent of that Hebrew name (along with Yiddish nicknames) for everyday use in their home and community, and then an Americanized version of that name to be used in public. I was poking around the internet (as one does) and stumbled across [this name database](https://www.jewishgen.org/databases/GivenNames/search.htm) where you can plug in a name to see what corresponding names real Jewish immigrants from various European countries adopted as their American equivalent names, used as their pet names, or had as their legal names. When I did it phonetically for Poland, Elazar was the most common and reasonable option for Les’ legal name, and although it seems that most men named Elazar went by Louis in the US, I think it’s possible to see how it could translate into Les, too.  
>  _Dumkop_ —dummy (literally stupid-head)
> 
> Jack is singing the nursery rhyme One, Two, Buckle My Shoe to Katherine.
> 
> ***  
> I hope you guys liked it! <3


	8. May 1904: Two Months to the Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack whines and Katherine gets help picking out a dress.

Katherine knocked on the door of Jack and Crutchie’s room in the boarding house. Crutchie opened it almost immediately and met Katherine’s excited grin with one of his own.

“Are you ready?” She asked, her voice a little bit squeaky with anticipation.

“Am I ever!” Crutchie answered, reaching for a light sweater hung on a hook next to the door.

Katherine peeked around the door frame to wave at Jack, who was sitting on the floor, practicing his figure drawing. Her heart leapt at the sight of page after page full of half-finished torsos, although she kept her face as still as possible. A few weeks ago, during one of their ‘let’s imagine’ sessions where they mapped out their futures together, she’d encouraged him to apply to art school. It didn’t go over well; he’d balked completely and asked her not to bring it up again. 

She’d dropped it, of course, but she couldn’t help but notice that ever since then he’d been spending a lot more time working on specific techniques instead of just playing with whatever image caught his fancy that day. She hoped that meant that he was coming around to the idea of night classes, at least, but she wasn’t going to push it and scare him off. So she simply tucked her hope away for later and, poking her head into the room, said, “How’s the light of my life doing today?”

“He’s fine,” Jack grumbled, “But he does wanna take the chance ta register his displeasure at bein’ excluded. _Again_.” 

“Oh, come on, Jack,” Katherine said. “You would’ve hated spending an entire afternoon with Mama, Edie, and Connie.” 

“Yeah, but they ain’t gonna be there today!” 

“No, but you _know_ you can’t see my dress before the wedding—it’s bad luck!”

Jack huffed. “Since when do you believe in luck?”

“Since I found out that it means I get to render you speechless on our wedding day by looking more beautiful than you thought possible,” she retorted. 

“Uh huh,” Jack said, unconvinced. “Lemme point out the flaws in that, love.” He shifted his legs, trying to bring some feeling back into them after having sat in one spot for too long. “First of all, I needs ta be able ta say my vows, don’t I? So ya don’t want me speechless. An’ second of all, there ain’t no way in hell you could ever look more beautiful than I think ya could. Even settin’ aside the fact that I’ve got a first-rate imagination, you’s the most beautiful woman in the world, Ace, an’ I knows it. Plus,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “I hates surprises.”

Katherine placed a hand on her hip. “Temporarily speechless, then. And I’ll bet you a kiss that when I walk down that aisle I’ll be so beautiful that you’ll be glad you waited.”

“What kind of kiss? And where?” Jack said, raising an eyebrow suggestively. 

Katherine flushed but held firm. “Any kind of kiss, anywhere. Winner chooses.” 

“Hmm,” he said, appraising her. “Deal.” He spat in his hand and extended it to her with a wink.

She rolled her eyes but imitated the gesture so they could shake hands. Then Katherine linked her arm through Crutchie’s and tugged him out of the door. “See you later, Jack,” she said.

Jack raised a finger. “I wanna repeat that I am not happy about this. Not happy at all.”

“Duly noted,” Katherine said. “I would advise you to contact the complaints department about the matter; they’re in charge of handling this sort of thing.”

“Oh, I’m gonna,” said Jack. “How do I get in touch with ‘em, darlin’?”

“Try taking a flying leap off the end of the Navy Yard Pier,” Katherine said, blowing him a kiss. “That ought to do it.”

Crutchie followed Katherine out the door, his laughter bubbling up at the expression on Jack’s face. “I promise I’ll do ya proud, Jackie,” he said, closing the door behind him. “I’ll make sure she gets somethin’ you’ll love.”

“I’m countin’ on you!” Jack called through the thin door. He smiled as he heard the lock click and picked his pencil back up, planning to spend the rest of his afternoon dressing every single one of his figure drawings in wedding gowns.

 

***

 

Katherine’s mother had set up an appointment with an excellent dressmaker over a month ago, and the Pulitzer women had worn the poor seamstress just about ragged with their requests and suggestions and disagreements and highly specific demands. But Kate Pulitzer paid well, so the dressmaker had been happy to mock up several gown options and allow Katherine to return a few weeks later, newsies in tow, to pick the final dress. 

“Are ya sure about this, Kath?” Crutchie asked as he settled down on a plush settee in the dressmaker’s elegant showroom. “I mean, we ain’t none of us up on the latest fashions.”

“That’s why I came with Mama, Edie, and Connie first,” she said. “Everything you’ll see today already has their stamp of approval. I want you boys to help me decide what Jack would like best.”

“Ya coulda just brought him, ya know,” Race said, drumming an unlit cigar against his thigh.

“That’s not how weddings work, but thanks for the input, Race,” Katherine said. 

“Anytime, doll,” he said, winking at her and stuffing the cigar in his mouth. “Lessee these dresses, yeah?”

“ _Oy vey_ , Race, aren’t you the charmer,” Davey said, leaning back in an overstuffed armchair and folding his arms.

“Always, Daveykins,” Race said, turning the full force of his smile on an unimpressed Davey.

“Better hurry up an’ change, Kath; I ain’t sure how long I can keep these two from causin’ a scene,” Crutchie said.

Davey stuck his tongue out at Race, who answered by tugging down his cheeks and rolling his eyes back up into his head.

“Ugh, Race, knock it off!” Katherine said, smacking him on the shoulder. “I asked you to come because I know I can trust your opinion, seeing as you have no filter whatsoever, but please, for the love of Pete, try your hardest to behave at least a little bit while we’re here!”

Race pulled another face but kept his mouth shut and waved Katherine off into the dressing room.

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Davey whispered to Race and Crutchie, unsure how far his voice would carry in the dress shop. “Are we just supposed to say we like everything, or what?”

Crutchie shrugged and scratched at his scalp. “I mean I guess so? Or maybe we try to guess by looking at Kath which one _she_ likes best and just vote for that?”

Race snorted. “Look, if Kath knew which one she wanted, she wouldn’ta bothered askin’ us here. Way I sees it, she asked me ‘cause I’m mouthy, she asked Crutchie ‘cause he’s known Jack the longest, an’ she asked Davey ‘cause he’d cry if he didn’t get to come.” He shot a look at Davey to see how the other boy had taken the hit, but Davey just laughed.

“Yep, that sounds like me, sobbing into my pillow all night, wishing I were sitting in a dress shop with you two knuckleheads,” he said.

Race’s face lit up. “Yeah.” He pulled a couple of sticks of gum out of his pocket and offered one to Davey and another to Crutchie. “Nah, I think she asked Davey ta come ‘cause he’s got good common sense. She didn’t invite none of us ta be, uh, what’s that word, Davey? Sicko-pants?”

To his credit, Davey kept a straight face. “Sycophants.” 

“Yeah, that’s it,” said Race, gesturing at Davey with his cigar. “So we oughta tell her what we thinks.”

The other two nodded, and Katherine came out of the dressing room in her first gown.

Race made a face like he’d just bitten into a lemon, Davey scrunched one eye nearly closed and raised his opposite eyebrow, and Crutchie’s eyes got all wide the way they always did when he was scrambling to find words that were both truthful _and_ nice.

Katherine covered her mouth to stifle a giggle. “I feel the same way about it,” she said. “Mama insisted on this one. High necks and puffy sleeves are apparently the pinnacle of fashion right now, but honestly, I think I look like a bloated giraffe.”

Crutchie nodded, his eyes still wide. Davey let out a deep sigh of relief, and Race jammed his cigar back into his mouth. “Glad ta hear your eyes still work, Kath,” said Race. “That one’s a no,” he added, looking to the other boys for confirmation. “What’s next?” 

“Something better, I promise,” she said, slipping back behind the white dressing room curtain. After copious amounts of rustling, the clicking sound of snap fasteners, some frustrated muttering, and a few thuds, she called back out to the boys, “Um, sorry, but could I get one of you to do up the back of this one, please? I’m decent, I just can’t cinch and tie the laces…”

All three boys froze at that, and then they shoved and made faces at each other until finally Crutchie and Race ganged up on Davey and pushed him forward.

“Sure,” he said lightly, shooting death glares at the other two newsies. “I’m going to come in now, okay?”

“Yes,” said Katherine, fidgeting nervously in the small dressing room. Was this appropriate? Maybe she should’ve called a dress shop assistant over? No, she thought, shoving the uncertainty out of her head. Asking the boys for help was her best option, because if she asked one of the employees, they might give the newsies haughty stares and snide remarks. And that wasn’t something Katherine would subject them to, particularly not when they were doing her a favor. Katherine’s request to return with three boys in tow had already earned her a judgmental look and a thinly veiled verbal jab from the dressmaker, and that was even after Katherine had made it clear that she was a Pulitzer. The boys would certainly get it worse than she had. Katherine didn’t mind the seamstress’ disapproval, seeing as she didn’t care what anyone thought of her choice in friends or fiancé or career, but she wasn’t going to have the boys interact with anyone who thought they were less-than.

Davey bit his lip and moved into the small dressing room to stand behind Katherine. She sucked in a breath at the touch of his cold fingers on her back.

“Sorry."

“It’s okay.” She released the breath slowly; she needed to make sure that the dress fit properly, after all, and she couldn’t do that if she held her breath while he tightened the stays. “Just pull the laces as tightly as possible, okay? You won’t hurt me. And then tie a bow at the top so it stays tight.”

“Right,” he said, eyeing the back of the dress with more than a little trepidation. He’d never seen a dress quite this involved before. Or at least he hadn’t seen one this close up… and half-undone… _Stop it, David._ He grabbed at the white laces, tugging and tightening and trying to get this dress on Katherine as quickly as possible.

“Ooh!” She squeaked, as he yanked a little more roughly than he’d meant to. “Hang on, let me move so I can brace my hands on the wall, I think that’ll make this easier on both of us…”

Davey’s ears burned as he heard Race’s muffled snickers out in the showroom, but Katherine just yelled, “Don’t worry, Race, you’ll get your turn with me soon enough!” She gave a suggestive moan, and added, “I bet you won’t be as good as Davey, though, he’s a stud,” which shut Race up pretty quick. The blush spread from Davey’s ears all across his face and down his neck as they shuffled over to the side of the dressing room, the dove-white ties of Katherine’s dress clasped firmly in Davey’s hands. 

“I… uh, I think that’s got it,” he said, stepping back to survey his handiwork.

“Great, thanks,” she said briskly, turning around and shooing him out of the dressing room in front of her. “I’m going to put on the veil now, and then I’ll be right out.”

Davey pushed the curtain slightly aside, and his dazed look was met with equally shocked expressions from both Race and Crutchie. 

“Well, she’s a good match for Jackie,” Crutchie whispered, shaking his head slowly. “I mean, I knew that, but…”

“Yeah,” Race breathed. “Whoo-wee, I needs ta find me a spitfire like that.” He ran his fingers through his short hair. “How old are Kath’s sisters?”

“Too young for you,” Katherine said tartly, making the boys jump. They hadn’t heard her slip out of the dressing room; if they had, they’d have shut up a lot sooner.

Race whistled. “That one’s a doozy, Kath. Jackie’d like it for sure.” 

Davey nodded, his face still bright red. He didn’t trust himself to speak. 

Katherine smoothed down the billowing ivory skirt of her dress. “Crutchie?”

“Ya look real good, Kath,” he said slowly. “But…” his cheeks flushed. 

“Spit it out.” She rested her hands on her hips.

“But…” He fiddled with the crutch leaning against the settee. “Well, it’ll be hard for Jackie ta get ya out of it.”

Davey just about choked, and even Race had to whip his cigar out of his mouth in order to keep from swallowing it.

Katherine merely pursed her lips. “Hmm. You’re right.” She sighed. “I was thinking the same thing, actually, but I kind of hoped I was being silly. I guess not." She shrugged. "Okay. I’ve got two more. Davey, would you undo the bow at the top of my back, please? I can get the rest myself.” Davey nodded and stood to help her. “Thanks. Race, I’m going to need your help with the set of buttons on the next one. I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

Race nodded, unable to think of anything witty to say. 

The next dress was full Belgian lace, with a row of pearl buttons down the back. The boys agreed that Katherine looked stunning, but they thought the lace was a bit staid. “You’s a lady reporter what writes hard news,” said Race. “Ya needs somethin’ risky an’ free.” Davey nodded.

“I think you might like this next one, then,” she said with a smile. “Hang on.” 

“Need any help?” Race called cheekily as the dressing room curtain fluttered shut.

“Nope,” Katherine replied. “Just sit back and wait.”

She emerged a few minutes later in a flowing dress that was both elegant and simple. This one was a two-piece ensemble, made of a slightly revealing underdress and a longer, translucent overdress. The underdress was snow white and sleeveless, with a daringly low-cut bodice, and although the material and cut weren’t clingy, it was still quite clear where her narrow waist and boyish hips both started and ended. The effect of something so revealing was tempered by the overdress, though. Although it was translucent, the cut was demure. The sleeves were short and floaty and fluttered as she moved, the skirt was soft and loose like the waves out in the harbor, and the neckline dipped slightly but covered most of her chest. As she twirled, they saw why she hadn’t needed their help with this one; the only buttons on either dress were the ones trailing down the center of the neckline on the overdress. They were delicate, made of silver, and caused the eye to run from her bodice down to a thick lilac sash cinched around her waist. The flash of color was unexpected, but it suited Katherine's auburn hair perfectly. She had chosen a long, sheer veil to complement the flow and purity of the dress, too, and as the boys took her in, she pushed it back over her head to judge the boys’ reactions more accurately. The entire effect was one of grace, youthfulness, and promise—the promise of a modern era, the promise of a happy marriage, the promise of a young woman in bloom. She was stunning.

“That’s it,” breathed Crutchie. “That’s the one.” Davey let out an appreciative puff of air, and Race just goggled.

“You think he’ll like it?” She scanned their faces, suddenly a little nervous at the scrutiny and the realization that this could be it—this could be the dress she wore when she stood before God and man and vowed to be with Jack Kelly forever and always. 

“He’ll love it,” Davey said, rubbing the back of his neck and leaning back in his chair. “My gosh, Katherine, you look like the angel he always says you are.”

“I'm with Crutchie an' Davey on this, Kath,” Race said, his voice low and certain. “That's the dress.”

She blushed and covered her mouth with her hands to hide her nerves and her smile. “Okay,” she said, her voice breaking on the word. “It’s settled, then. This is… this is my wedding dress.” She moved to face the mirror, but instead of looking at the dress, she stared into her own eyes, which were full of anticipation and wonder and a growing sense of certainty. “This is my wedding dress,” she whispered. “This... this is what I’ll be wearing when I marry Jack.” Her eyes filled with tears and she turned to the boys with a buoyant laugh. “I can’t wait for him to see it,” she said, giddy with joy, unable to hold back her smile or keep the tears from spilling over. “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was hard to write; I don't know why. I think the next one will be easier, though, so hopefully it won't take as long? That's probably an unrealistic fantasy, however, because real work is piling up, and I've got a couple of really important job application things to pull together over the next week, too. So no promises. Sorry. :/
> 
> Thank you to Rachel for her help with the wedding dress and for drawing me such a lovely mock sketch of it to reference while writing! As an additional note, I did research the wedding dress styles of the time, and the rejected dresses are period-appropriate. So is the one Katherine settles on, but her dress is more fashion-forward than the typical dress of the time, which would have had puffy sleeves and a high neck and an S-shaped corset with a very high push-up bodice. 
> 
> My word and phrase origin dictionary (I highly recommend getting one if you are a language nerd, they're so much fun! :D ) says that "for Pete's sake" dates back to at least late 19th century America, so I'm betting that "for the love of Pete" is probably also period-appropriate. Pete is a euphemism for St. Peter.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated, and thank you for reading! I hope you liked it.


	9. June 1904: One Month to the Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Katherine and Jack have an awkward but important conversation.

“It’s hard to picture Race and Albert being anything but newsies,” Katherine said, shaking her head as she and Jack exited the Metropolitan Museum of Art on a breezy Sunday afternoon.

“Yeah,” Jack said, catching her arm as she slipped slightly on the steps in front of the museum. “I’m proud of them, though. I know how hard it was for me to see myself doin’ somethin’ other than sellin’ papes. Even when you know you’re too old to be a newsboy, moving out of the lodging house and starting a new job is still a leap.”

“Those boys always land on their feet, though,” she said, smiling up into his solemn face. “Getting in on the ground floor of auto racing will be a good fit for Race, I think. And it sounds like Albert’s already doing well as a messenger boy.”

“They seem happy,” Jack agreed, scratching at the back of his head. “Race is getting’ paid to be fast and reckless, an’ Albert’s got exactly the kind of cool head you need if you’re deliverin’ what might be awful news.” He adjusted his hand on her hip. “I’m real glad they decided to split a room, too—knowin’ they’re keepin’ an eye out for each other means I don’t have to check in on ‘em all the time. I’m not worryin’ about them as much as I thought I would, an’ I have to say, it’s nice.”

Katherine looked dreamily at the cloudless sky. “You take such good care of those boys. You’re going to be a wonderful father someday.”

It was an offhand remark on her part, but Jack flushed beet red and pressed a quick kiss to the side of her forehead. She smiled and admired the summer dresses and dapper suits of the people they passed on the sidewalk.

They walked in silence for a block or so before he blurted out, “You really wanna have kids? I know you think you do, but I mean, it’s not abstract anymore—it’s not just ‘yeah I want a boy an’ a girl an’ I’m gonna name ‘em Mick an’ Molly an’ dress ‘em up real cute,’ ya know? It’s—it’s nearer now, ain’t it? It’s somethin’ that… well, it could happen. Soon. By this time next year, even.” Jack pulled his hand away from her waist to fiddle with his cap. “Just think, next summer we could be walkin’ down this very same street, but instead of holdin’ hands with me, you could be pushin’ a baby carriage with your child in it. Your _child_ , Ace. An’ I know you knows this, but… if you have kids, you’ll be havin’ kids with… with _me_. An that… are ya… are ya sure that’s somethin’ you want? Little screamin’ babies with my ugly mug an’ your willful sass?”

She frowned. “What makes you think they’d look like you, huh?”

“My rotten stubbornness an’ your sweet smile, then,” he said, rolling his eyes. “That ain’t the point, though, an’ you knows it.”

She nodded and sighed. “I know.” she rubbed her temples. “I _do_ want children, Jack; I never lied about that. I just don’t know _when_ I want children. There’s so much I still want to do and see and be, and I can’t picture doing that with children in tow. I just… it’s just… I mean, right now the idea of a baby is… well…” she bit her lip and looked up at him. “It scares me.”

His worried expression softened. “Me, too.”

She brightened a little. “Really? You’re not just saying that? Because I want to have kids with you, I really do. I want two or three little versions of you jumping on our couch and waking us up far too early so that they can cuddle with us and racing each other down the sidewalk and spilling milk all over the kitchen table.” She laughed. “They’ll all have your dark hair and your laughing eyes and they’ll be the rowdiest, most perfect things we’ve ever seen.” 

He grinned, and Katherine didn’t even try to stop herself from pulling him close and kissing the dimple in his cheek. “I dunno, macushla. It’s gonna be hard for some kid ta be more perfect than you.”

She shoved him playfully. “Our kids will be the most perfect people on God’s green earth, you wait and see." 

“Emphasis on wait,” he said, his eyes sparkling.

“Yes.” She squeezed his hand and then shot him a nervous glance out of the corner of her eye. He seemed relaxed and good-humored, so she took a deep breath and went for it. “Um, actually, that… that kind of brings me to something else I’ve been wanting to talk to you about…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, um, can we… can we find somewhere private, maybe?” 

“Geez, Ace, I thought we just decided we were waitin’ on all that!”

She glared at him. “Honestly, Jack Kelly, you are the most _im_ possible boy!”

He snorted. “Ohhh, darlin’, that ain’t gonna work on me anymore; you just admitted you wanna have a baby with me,” he smirked, ruffling her hair. “Let’s escape into Central Park. Ya can always find a quiet spot in there.”

She nodded and reached for his hand again, tugging him through the next entrance she saw. After wandering down dirt pathways and past crowded benches, they finally found a swath of grass that was empty, secluded, and set far away from the Sunday afternoon foot traffic. Katherine plopped down without any grace whatsoever and pulled Jack after her. They took a moment to settle themselves across from each other on the prickly grass, both of them ending up cross-legged and leaning in close.

“So tell me about the bee in your bonnet,” Jack said, nudging her knee with his foot and giving her a rakish smile.

She screwed her eyes shut for a moment and gathered her courage. _Spit it out, Katherine. This is something you have to talk about, and you have to do it before the wedding._ Long _before the wedding._ She looked him straight in the eyes and burst out, “Jack, I… I’m a virgin.” The laughter fled from Jack’s face, and Katherine’s mouth went dry.

He blinked a few times and rubbed at his nose. “Okay? I mean, I figured as much, Ace.”

“No, I mean… I’m not sure you understand. The farthest I’ve ever gone has been with you. I’ve never… I’ve never even been with anyone else, not seriously, not the way we’ve… not the things we’ve done,” she whispered, her cheeks heating up. “I only kissed two boys before you, and that was all I’d tried, and it wasn’t even very good…” She bit her bottom lip and worried it back and forth between her teeth. “I’ve been muddling through everything this whole time and I’m sure you noticed and it was kind of you not to say anything but now we’re going to be _married_ and we’re supposed to be… we’re supposed to…” She covered her face in her hands and squeaked, “I don’t know how any of it works, and you’re going to hate me because I don’t know how to please you!”

If Katherine had trusted herself to open her eyes and peek through her fingers, she would have seen an expression on Jack’s face that was so tender it might have caused her to melt right then and there. But she didn’t, and so Jack had to speak. “It’s okay, darlin’.” He reached out a warm hand and stroked her knee. “I’ll help ya figure it out. I _like_ that I get to show you these things, you know? It makes it all better for me, somehow. An’ all we’ve done so far…” He took a shuddering breath and then whistled. “You’ve been amazing. Just… phenomenal. You even make me wish I’d waited, ‘cause you’re just… there ain’t nobody who can hold a candle to you, Ace. Experience or no, your hands on my body, your lips against mine, your tongue, your teeth, your gorgeous little fingers, I—” He gulped and bit the back of his hand to calm down. “Damn it, you’ve got me all riled up just _thinkin_ ’ about it, Ace, ain’t nobody else ever affected me like that.”

Her hands began to move slowly down from her face. “For sure?”

“For sure.”

“But I don’t… I really don’t know the first thing about… you know…”

Jack smiled fondly and reached to hold her hands, rubbing his calloused thumbs back and forth across her wrists. “It’s a process, love, and it’s different for everyone.” He puffed out a laugh. “Heck, it’s different _with_ everyone. So we’ll learn this together, okay? We’ll learn _us_ together. An’ we’ll take it slow, real slow—if it takes a couple weeks, that’s okay. Heck, if it takes longer, that’s okay. There’s no need to rush; we’ve got time. We’ll figure out what works and what doesn’t, I’ll get plenty of chances to become acquainted with every last, little, delicious bit of ya, an’ I’m gonna make sure it feels just as good for you as for me, yeah? An’ sure, we’ll make mistakes and laugh about things and feel embarrassed, but that’s all completely normal. Happens to everyone. Just remember, Ace, when I get you out of that wedding dress, I guarantee that I’m not gonna be thinkin’ about your experience or inexperience or what I’m hopin’ for in our honeymoon suite or any other girl in the world—all I’ll be able ta think when I see you like that is how goshdamn much I want you. You ain’t got nothin’ ta be worried about in the bedroom, Ace. You’s gonna be perfect.” 

She felt a goofy smile spread across her face, and she flung herself into his arms in order to hide it. “You mean it?”

“Of course,” he said, stroking her hair.

She nuzzled her face down into his shoulder and mumbled, “But how do we… how do we do all that and not have kids?” She felt him hold his breath for a moment and was grateful that that was his only reaction. She’d been putting this conversation off for months, knowing it wasn’t going to be easy for either of them; not for her, having to admit her fears and inexperience and talk about… _it_ , and not for Jack, having to adjust his expectations for their wedding night and realize that she was going to fail miserably at fulfilling her wifely duties and find out that he'd need to serve as the sole voice of knowledge on all of the ins and outs of what married couples are supposed to do. She just hoped that his held breath didn’t mean that he was as clueless about this as she was, because she was _not_ getting pregnant any time soon. She’d rather keep things as they had been for the past year or so, dealing with the constant undercurrent of frustration at all of their near-misses and the physical ache of knowing there was more to him that she couldn’t have, than risk having a child grow inside her. The very thought of having a baby, a real, honest to goodness _baby_ , made her blood run cold. She wasn’t ready.

Jack started breathing again. “Well.” He blew out a short puff of air. “We’ve got options. There’s stuff I can do, it’s, um… they’ve got these rubber goods at the drugstore, I, uh, they’s still allowed, so… so I’ll get some. An’ then I don’t… I don’t know as much about the things you can do, ‘cause it’s been a while since I’ve needed to, an’ they keeps changin’ all that, anyway, like what you can get and where an’ what’s legal an’…” He tugged his cap back and forth with one hand. “Think ya’d feel comfortable askin’ Miss Medda about it? She’d know. Or, uh, I can ask her, if ya want.” He blushed bright red at the terrifying thought of asking Miss Medda to explain the finer points of female contraception to him. But he’d do it if he had to. He’d fidget through the whole lecture, he was sure, but at least she’d be kind and straightforward about it.

Katherine’s stomach churned. “I can do it,” she whispered. “It’d be good for me to learn these things myself.” She licked her lips, trying to bring some moisture back into her dry mouth, and injected a little levity into her voice. “And while I’m there I can take the chance to, uh, to get some tips from her about other things, too. Maybe I’ll surprise you a little come July.”

She felt a laugh rumble through his chest. “You’re always surprising me, love.”

“Good.” She pressed a kiss to his neck and rubbed his back, shivering slightly at the feel of the taut muscles hidden under his dress shirt. He returned her kiss, tilting his head slightly to press his hot lips to the back of her neck. “Stop it, Jack, you’re going to make me lose my head,” she said sternly.

“As if you didn’t start it,” he mumbled hazily, running his hands down her sides and reaching ever lower. “I’m gonna do unspeakable things to you next month, Ace, I’m gonna have you callin’ out my name an’ beggin’ for mercy…” He pressed his nose into the hollow at the base of her skull, and she thrummed at the pressure and the vibration of his lips. Suddenly, his hands flew back up to tug at the neckline of her dress, pulling it sideways so that he could kiss and suck at her shoulder, then her clavicle, and then push her head from his shoulder so that he could begin fumbling with the buttons on her blouse.

“ _Jack_ ,” she said, leaning back out of his reach. “Not here.”

He tilted his head back and groaned. “All this waiting is killing me,” he said, grinding his teeth. “I think I’m gonna burst.” He laid back in the grass and pillowed his head on his hands.

“You know I can’t cook,” she said abruptly.

“…what?” He turned his head sideways and lifted it just enough so that he could see her out of the corner of his eye.

“I can’t cook. I ruin everything I put on the stove. I’ve nearly burned my apartment down three times.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I know, you were only there for the one, and I didn’t want to tell you about the others… it’s embarrassing. But you won’t want me anywhere near the kitchen. I can’t make you dinner. I can’t send you to work with the beautiful, homemade lunches all the other husbands have.”

Jack pulled himself back into a sitting position and blinked at her, confused.

“And the only person you’re getting from this marriage is me,” she continued. “I can’t give you a second family. My father is not going to invite you on fishing trips upstate, my mother is not going to introduce you at gatherings as ‘the son she always wanted but never had,’ my brothers are not going to take you out on the town to drink and smoke and raise hell, my sisters are not going to ask you to meet their beaus and pass judgment.” She felt her limbs growing leaden and her voice growing cold. “I’m all you’re getting, Jack. Just me. No family. No parents. No support. No connections. Just me and a generous helping of my family’s fierce disapproval. Let me be perfectly clear: if you married anyone else in this city, you’d get a stake in the family business, a seat at the table on Thanksgiving, and a gaggle of siblings and cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents all fawning over your every move. You’re not getting that with me. Not a single bit of that. Marry me, and you’ll get me and a front-row seat to my parents’ bitter disappointment. That’s it. Is that what you want? Are you sure that’s what you want your life to be?”

He scooted back towards her, not caring that he was almost certainly grinding permanent grass and dirt stains into his corduroys. “You think I care about all that?”

“You should. Wives are supposed to cook for their husbands. I can’t. And even if I could, I probably wouldn’t. Not the way I’m supposed to. And you have _always_ wanted a family, Jack. A _big_ family. Ever since the first time we talked, really talked, it’s been incredibly obvious that losing your parents shattered your heart and that every single thing you've done since then has been an attempt to regain that closeness. All of that Santa Fe nonsense was just a smokescreen. You wanted a family so badly it hurt, so badly that you couldn’t let anyone know that’s what you wanted in case someone told you what you were sure was true: That you’d never have one.” 

Jack’s brow furrowed, and he frowned.

“But you _can_ have one, Jack. Just not with me. I can’t give you a family; I can only give you myself. And me? Just me? That’s not enough for you. You deserve more. You deserve better. You deserve all the rowdy cousins and drunk uncles and doting mothers and responsible little sisters you can stomach. And I can’t give them to you.” 

Jack shook his head slowly and looked at the ground. “No. No, you can’t.” Then he reached out to hold her hands and fixed her steely gaze with one of his own. “But you can give me you. And that’s what I want. That's _all_ I want. We’ll make our own family, Ace. A family of two is still a family, and when we have kids it’ll be bigger, and that’s enough for me. That’s already more than I ever dreamed I’d have.”

She raised an eyebrow. “But you could have more.”

“But I couldn’t have better.” 

She smiled slightly, but persisted. “Have you thought about this, though? All you’re giving up to be with me?”

He laughed. “And here I thought the problem was the other way around!” She rolled her eyes and he raised his hands to ward off a scolding. “Okay, okay. I see what you’re saying, I really do, but trust me, Ace. I've thought about it. I promise. And I don’t need a woman who can cook, and I don’t want a wife who spends time making my meals when she could be out chasin’ stories and savin’ the world. I don’t need someone else’s extended family, and I don’t want cousins and uncles who won’t love me half as well as you an’ the boys do. I’d say Race can fill in for any number of drunk uncles, Crutchie’s better’n any doting mother, Albert an’ Finch an’ Elmer an’ the rest are the best, loudest, rowdiest cousins I could find, an’ Davey an’ Specs are about as responsible of sisters as you could picture. An’ then on top of that I get you as my wife? I get to have sons an’ daughters with your beautiful laugh an’ your tough spine an’ your soft heart?” He shook his head in disbelief. “If I could go back in time and tell myself what was ahead of me, how someday I’d have a family like the one I’ve got now, I’d never have believed it. You and the boys are better than anything I could’ve imagined, Ace, I swear it—an’ you best believe I spent an awful lot of time as a kid dreamin’ up all sorts of families that might want me someday. So you think a couple of kitchen fires and some snooty parents are gonna scare me off of that? Of you, the best thing that ever happened to me? No way. You’re stuck with me, Katherine Plumber, ‘cause now that I know you exist I ain’t never lettin’ you go.” He chucked her chin up and raised an eyebrow. “You got that?”

“I got it,” she said, smiling shyly. “Okay.” She stood, brushed her skirts off, and extended a hand to help pull him up off the ground. “Do you have time to grab dinner with me before work?”

“I always have time for food,” Jack said fervently. “Jacobi’s?”

Katherine laughed. “There are other restaurants in this city, you know.”

“Yeah, but if it ain’t broke…”

“Jacobi’s it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical notes: 
> 
> Auto racing was a thing back then; the first designated track for it in the US wasn’t built until about 1909, but it existed before then. There was a temporary ban on betting on horse races in New York in 1907ish that caused a lot of tracks to try to replace the lost revenue by holding car races (mostly this didn’t work, though, and the race tracks had to shut down), and partly as a result of this, interest in racing cars gradually began to grow.
> 
> Had to read up on turn-of-the-century contraception for this chapter, which was interesting. I'm just gonna copy & paste the most relevant bits (which Jack is referencing) from Wikipedia: 
> 
> "Contraception was legal in the United States throughout most of the 19th century, but in the 1870s a social purity movement grew in strength, aimed at outlawing vice in general, and prostitution and obscenity in particular. Composed primarily of Protestant moral reformers and middle-class women, the Victorian-era campaign also attacked contraception, which was viewed as an immoral practice that promoted prostitution and venereal disease. Anthony Comstock, a postal inspector and leader in the purity movement, successfully lobbied for the passage of the 1873 Comstock Act, a federal law prohibiting mailing of 'any article or thing designed or intended for the prevention of conception or procuring of abortion' as well as any form of contraceptive information. Many states also passed similar state laws (collectively known as the Comstock laws), sometimes extending the federal law by outlawing the use of contraceptives, as well as their distribution. Comstock was proud of the fact that he was personally responsible for thousands of arrests and the destruction of hundreds of tons of books and pamphlets.... The efforts of the free love movement were not successful and, at the beginning of the 20th century, federal and state governments began to enforce the Comstock laws more rigorously. In response, contraception went underground, but it was not extinguished. The number of publications on the topic dwindled, and advertisements, if they were found at all, used euphemisms such as 'marital aids' or 'hygienic devices'. Drug stores continued to sell condoms as 'rubber goods' and cervical caps as 'womb supporters'." 
> 
> None of these methods were as good as the contraceptive options available today, but they were certainly better than things like the rhythm method, which is just bunk. 
> 
> Non-historical notes: 
> 
> I KNEW this one would be easier to write! Pretty much flew through it. I also have 300 deleted words of smutty smut for this chapter that I could either 1. Put back in or 2. Add to these end notes or 3. Post in a standalone version of this chapter. (Kind of leaning towards option 3.) I'm old enough that I think I've reached a point in my life where I don't feel dirty after reading smut, but I definitely wouldn't have felt that way even fairly recently, and I don't want to force that on anyone who wants to read this story but isn't old enough/comfortable with reading that sort of thing. So I deleted it. But let me know if you want me to put it somewhere findable, because I can. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Only one more chapter, and wow, I bet you'll never guess what happens in that one, what could it possibly be about... :P
> 
> Comments and kudos are always extremely welcome! <3


	10. July 1904: The Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After over 33,000 words of post-engagement, pre-wedding shenanigans, Jack and Kath finally get married.

Kate Pulitzer had insisted that Katherine get ready for the wedding at the Pulitzer family’s home, but Katherine had insisted on spending the night before the wedding alone in her apartment. She was readying herself to leave when a knock came at the door.

“Just a second,” she said. “I’ll be right there.”

“No, don’t open it, it’s me.” Jack’s voice was muffled but distinctive. 

“So… why can’t I open it?” She asked, her hand already on the doorknob.

“It’s bad luck,” he said. “Can’t see ya until the wedding, you know that.”

She smiled. She did know, but she hadn’t known he’d care. Given how much they both reveled in being iconoclastic, she found it endearing when he stuck to tradition. “Why’d you come, then?”

She could picture him adjusting his hat and rolling his shoulders, his stiff gray newsie cap bending slightly under his grip, his broad shoulders crinkling his starched dress shirt. “Because this is the biggest day of my adult life,” he said, “An’ I don’t know how I’m s’posed to make it to this afternoon without talking to the one person I tell everythin’ to.”

She blushed. “I feel the same. I…” She rubbed at her nose. “Well. I’m glad you came.” She laid her forehead against the door and thought for a minute. “You know, Jack, you did already walk all the way over here,” she said, her voice taking on a playful tone. “Do you think maybe you deserve a kiss from your blushing bride as your reward?”

She heard him chuckle. “I was just wantin’ to hear your voice, but if you’re offering more, who am I to say no?" 

“Keep your eyes closed,” she warned.

“You, too,” he said.

“That’s not part of it! I’m almost certain that it’s only the groom who’s not allowed to see the bride.”

“Well that don’t seem fair,” he objected. “How come you get to be the only one who sees a pretty face this morning?”

Still hidden behind the door, Katherine grinned broadly. “Fine, then. Have it your way. I’m opening the door with my eyes closed now, so don’t stand too close or it’ll clunk you in the head.”

“How considerate of you not to injure your groom before the wedding,” Jack said, a trace of sarcasm in his voice, but she heard him move out of the way.

Katherine reached a hand through the doorway, fumbling around in the air. “Jack?”

“Right here,” he said, his voice practically in her ear, making her jump. He must have stepped to the side of the doorway rather than back from it. “Where are… oh.” She felt his fingers poke awkwardly into her arm.

“Don’t manhandle me yet,” she protested. “Save that for tonight!” She blushed furiously as she realized what she’d said, and amended, “Or, you know, for never. I don’t want you to… that is, I don’t think I… Ugh.” She shook her head rapidly. “We can… we can figure that out later.”

He chuckled, his breath hot on her skin. She felt his hands run across her shoulders and along her neck until they finally cupped her face. Smiling, she stuck her hands out to where she supposed his head was and provoked a squeak from him as she accidentally jabbed him in the nose. 

“Sorry!” They both burst into laughter.

“This is harder than I thought,” Jack said eventually, his hands still firmly gripping Katherine’s face, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones.

“I’ve got you now, though,” she said, finally having positioned one hand in his hair and the other on the back of his neck.

“You’ve got me forever,” he murmured, leaning in for the kiss. Their noses bumped as they each tried to figure out where the other was, and they smiled their way through a series of short kisses, breathy and sweet, punctuated by giggles. 

“And ever,” she said, slipping the words in between the touch of his lips on hers.

“And ever,” he agreed. “I can’t wait ta marry you, Ace.”

 

***

 

Katherine swallowed hard and tugged at the gauzy overdress of her wedding ensemble. She could hear the opening notes of the entrance music playing—only a few more bars and Constance would start down the aisle with Davey, and then Edith would enter with Crutchie, and not a minute after that _she_ would start down the aisle, and oh dear goodness everyone she cared about was inside that church, and the single person she loved most in the world was waiting a few hundred feet away—maybe less? She was terrible at estimating. Was Jack any good at estimating? Maybe she could make him pay the bills from now on? She hated trying to estimate monthly expenses and balance her checkbook—she could do it, of course, and she had been for years, but she’d really rather not, and if Jack were better at it than she was then she’d happily relinquish that chore to him, and—hang on—why was she thinking about her household finances when any second now she was going to be walking through those double doors and into her marriage? _Pull it together, Katherine! Focus!_

“Stop fidgeting, Kitty!” Edith, sensible Edith, grabbed Katherine’s wrist and gave her a stern look. “All that wiggling is going to ruin your bouquet!”

Katherine pursed her lips and looked down at the bouquet that she was twisting nervously in her right hand. After much consultation with the florist, her mother, and her sisters, she’d settled on five white roses, one for each year that she and Jack had spent together. Katherine had originally wanted peach, but the florist advised white, because white roses symbolized marriage, purity, and new beginnings. That was fine with Katherine, because she got her pop of color with trailing vines of Carolina jessamine. She’d liked the discreet nod to her family’s Southern ties, and the florist had liked the symbolism of beauty, love, romance, and joy. They’d decided to round out the bouquet with sprigs of baby’s breath and a healthy collection of green filler foliage, and there was no denying that it was a beautiful bouquet.

Or rather, it _had_ been a beautiful bouquet—earlier in the day, before she’d gotten her hands on it. Her restlessness had shaken out some of the leaves and carefully placed blooms, and the whole thing looked a little disheveled now. Oh well. She felt a bit guilty about ruining it before anyone outside the bridal party had even seen it, but if she turned it this way instead of the other way, no one would notice. Probably. …Maybe. “Thanks, Edie,” she said, moving to clasp the bouquet firmly in front of her, both hands still and centered.

Edith smiled and Crutchie gave Katherine a sympathetic look before hooking his arm through Edith’s and starting through the double doors of the church, which the sexton held open for the two of them.

“Nervous?” her father asked, moving to take her arm.  

Katherine let out a deep breath, causing her long veil to flutter. “A little bit—last night I dreamt that I tripped on my dress and started hiccupping during my vows.”

“That isn’t what I meant, Katherine.” 

“You mean about marrying Jack?”

Pulitzer raised an eyebrow.

“No,” she said. “No. Not at all. This is what happens to us. This is what we want.”

“Good.” Pulitzer gave a nod and then patted his daughter’s arm. “Here we go, then.” 

Katherine gave a small smile and twisted her bouquet around once more. The sexton held the doors open for her and her father, and the organ music seemed to swell and surge into her as they started down the center aisle of the church. The church was heady with the smell of rose petals and summer, and she couldn’t believe it. This was it—this was her wedding day. How was this happening? How was it real? And then she blinked and saw Jack, and everything came roaring back. _Jack. My Jack_. 

He was wearing a smart black suit with a sprig of tall mountain larkspur pinned to his lapel, his hair combed and slicked until it shone, a top hat clenched in his hands. The brim of his hat was crumpled enough to let her know that he’d been treating his hat about the same way she’d been treating her bouquet, and that made her want to laugh. She didn’t, though, because the look on his face was so full of love and hope and tenderness that it nearly brought her to tears. His wide eyes, his trembling lips, the firm set of his jaw and the lines of anticipation creasing his forehead—all of it spoke to his dawning realization that he was actually marrying the love of his life, that dreams do come true, that his most unrealistic fantasy was in the middle of transforming from a castle in the air to a publicly acknowledged reality. She teetered for a moment between sobs and smiles, her emotions tugging her back and forth, fighting for control, and then she tipped over into pure, all-consuming joy. She felt as if she had been dipped in starlight, she could illuminate the entire church just on her own, she was floating into space and might never come back.

Jack was finding it similarly difficult to remain anchored to the earth. He’d twisted his hat around and around as Davey and Constance proceeded down the aisle, Connie all bright smiles and youthful innocence, Davey solemn and correct but, for those who knew where to look, full of unmistakable happiness for his friends. Jack’s heartbeat had stayed relatively steady until Crutchie and Edith walked through the doors, Edith proving to be the serious counterpart in this pairing—Crutchie was a ray of sunshine buttoned into a rented tuxedo. Their entrance meant that Katherine was next, and Jack’s heart began to hammer. Then the organist paused, and Jack’s poor heart, already working overtime, nearly stopped altogether. He knew from the rehearsal the night before that this pause was the sexton’s cue to fling open the doors one last time and let Katherine and her father process down the aisle. He couldn’t wait.

Jack blinked as the doors swung open—this time, the two figures entering the church were backlit in brilliant light, and all he could make out was the silhouette of a tall, stiff figure standing next to someone defined only by the floating edges of a wispy wedding dress.

“Katherine,” he whispered as the doors swung shut, the organist launched into the climax of the processional music, and the sunlight faded. Slowly, his eyes adjusted back from the brightness of the sun into the soft glow of the church, and there she was. His bride. His darling. His heart. A vision in a gauzy veil, her dress modern but tasteful, the perfect balance of teasing and demure. Oh, how he wanted her there by his side—right now, this instant—so that he could slip the ring onto her finger and cling to and support and adore her for the rest of his days. A lump grew in his throat and tears sprang unbidden to his hazel eyes. She was radiant, she was brilliant, and she was _his_. His, his, his and only his, for as long as they both should live. His, for richer or poorer. His to have and to hold, to honor and protect, to love and to cherish in greater measure and more completely than he ever did himself. His Katherine. His _wife_. “Katherine,” he whispered again, his mouth dry. 

She was close enough now to see him mouth her name, and she smiled even wider. Why was it taking so long to get to him? The aisle hadn’t seemed nearly so long last night at the rehearsal. She wanted to be next to him _now_ , to lift his left hand and slide on the sturdy gold wedding band that they’d picked out together and inscribed with their initials and their wedding date. “Jack,” she mouthed. “I love you.”

He beamed in response, and tears welled at the corners of his eyes.

And then she was there. Joseph Pulitzer relinquished his hold on Katherine’s arm and gave Jack a nod as he watched his soon-to-be son-in-law clasp his daughter’s hand. Edith moved to take Katherine’s bouquet, which had shed several more petals and leaves on its trip down the aisle and was now looking decidedly the worse for wear. Jack and Katherine knelt at the altar to receive the priest’s blessing, and then they were through the homily, and the hymns, and now the rings, and Jack’s hands were sweaty and Katherine’s were trembling, and the vows took next to no time at all, and then each of them rose in wonder, dazed at how quickly this had happened, how short a time it took to formalize what they’d spent years cultivating and exploring and growing together. This was it. This was real.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest intoned. “You may kiss the bride.” 

Jack smiled, a small smile that soon spread into something practically indecent as he saw the twinkle in Katherine’s eyes and thought back to all of the irreverent jokes they’d made about this moment. His hands were steady as he lifted up her long lace veil and draped it back over her auburn hair, and he moved to caress her face with one of his calloused fingers. “Hello, wife,” he said, his voice so low that even Crutchie and Edith, who were standing nearest to the couple, couldn’t hear him.

“Hello, husband,” she said, her happiness so complete she thought she might burst. Jack was her _husband_. They were married. This was real. She laughed in sheer wonder at it. At him. At them, together for the rest of their days. He was marvelous, and now he was hers. “How about a kiss, Mr. Kelly?”

“Gladly, Mrs. Kelly,” he said, leaning towards her. He wanted to kiss her, of course, but it was a struggle to pull his lips out of a smile, because he couldn’t stop thinking about how now Katherine was his wife, his _wife_ , she was his _wife_ , and he had everything he needed right here in front of him, and heaven only knew how this had happened, but he’d never go a day without thanking God for her. Not a single day. Not ever. And so he was still smiling as he pressed his lips to hers, but she was smiling, too, and the congregation erupted in dignified cheers (Katherine’s side) and raucous whoops (Jack’s) as he dipped her backwards and gripped her tighter. They were so immersed in the kiss that they only dimly registered Race’s shouts and Albert’s piercing whistle as Katherine slung one hand behind Jack’s neck and braced the other firmly on his back so as to kiss him even harder.

“I’m the luckiest woman in the world,” she whispered as they pulled apart. “Me. Katherine Kelly.” She grinned, liking the sound of that. It would make a good byline if she ever felt the need to switch. 

Jack grinned back. “Nice ta meet you, Katherine Kelly. I’m Jack.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Funny thing, Katherine, but I think we have the same last name, you an’ me.”

“Fancy that,” she said. “And here I'm not even Irish.”

He winked and let himself take in the sight of her. Yes indeed, no doubt about it, he’d just married the most beautiful woman in the world. “You know, Mrs. Kelly,” he said thoughtfully, “It looks like the cheeky boy got somethin’ for his troubles after all, huh?”

Katherine laughed and nodded. “I’ll say.” She pulled her hand away from his neck and looked wonderingly at the ring on her finger. “I’m yours and you’re mine, Jack. Forever. Can you believe it?”

“I think so,” he said, “But lemme kiss you again to make sure.” And then, still smiling, he tugged her back in for just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END! TAH DAH!
> 
> Larkspur symbolizes love, affection, a pure heart, and a desire for laughter. Tall mountain larkspur is blue and grows in the Southwest. 
> 
> Thanks to Chloé for help with the flowers!
> 
> They go on a honeymoon to Santa Fe, obviously. 
> 
> I hope you liked it! <3


End file.
